


Corner of the World 40: Family Ties

by serafina20



Series: Corner of the World [43]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Episode Related, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafina20/pseuds/serafina20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark deals with family, both wanted and un.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corner of the World 40: Family Ties

It all happened so fast, that Clark wasn't exactly sure what had happened. All he knew was that, one day, he'd been flying because finally, after all these years, he actually got to meet his grandfather. It had come suddenly, almost completely out of the blue, but he'd known it would turn out for the best. And then, almost just as suddenly, it was over.

It had all just been so wrong. Granddad was supposed to like Clark, be happy that Clark was his grandson, and be ... well, a grandfather. Instead, Granddad had even less heart than Lionel, and Clark knew that was a horrible, cruel thought that wasn't true, but the man was cold. Clark had done everything he could think of to make him want to stay, and he'd barely gotten a smile.

And then his parents had told him the truth. About how they'd kept Granddad out of their lives on purpose to protect Clark. How they had allowed bad feelings to deepen and grow and fester until there was no healing the breach. How Clark had never gotten to meet his grandfather, all because of what he was. An alien.

It had been too much. Clark had sort of stumbled away from them, stunned, gone to his room, packed his overnight bag and took off. He didn't know whether to be hurt or angry, so he settled on some uncomfortable in-between place where he couldn't stand to see his parents, and couldn't help watching Granddad leave.

Clark kicked the tree he was standing behind as he watched Granddad climb into his car. He thought about going up and saying something: goodbye, or can I write you, or come back for Christmas. Just something. But, in the end, he'd decided it wasn't worth it. He was tired of the rejection and tired of feeling like he wasn't worth knowing.

Once Granddad's car was just a speck on the road, Clark lifted his bag and took off for Lex's. For once, he couldn’t care less if Lionel was there. In fact, if he was, so much the better; Clark felt like being angry right now, and Lionel was sure to make him even more pissed off. He almost welcomed it.

He zoomed past security and entered through the kitchen door. Mabel was inside, cooking.

"Clark!" she said, her face lighting up. "Hello. I haven't seen you here for a while. Taking over deliveries?"

Clark shrugged. "Probably, unless Mom just brings it over when she comes to work. I'm, uh, not delivering anything today."

"Of course not; it's Thursday," she said, shaking her head. "I can hardly keep my head on these days. The dishes Lionel orders every day take up so much of my brain, Lila is a god send for taking care of the managerial part of the kitchen. Back when I ran a restaurant in Gotham, I dealt with it a little, but always had an assistant. There was no need when it was just Lex, though." She smiled ruefully. "So, how's school?"

"Okay. The new principal's a little harsh, but classes are cool. I'm getting straight A's again."

Mabel grinned at him. "That's wonderful, Clark. You really are a smart boy. You're going to amount to a lot in life."

His cheeks warmed slightly. "Thanks," he said, a tad awkwardly. Funny how people who knew him thought he was going to go far in life, and people who didn't--well, Reynolds--figured he was going to fail because he was a slacker. And he still didn't know what to write for the stupid essay Reynolds had assigned, and it was due tomorrow.

No, scratch that. He knew what to write. The problem was deciding between what he really wanted to say, and the comfortable lie.

"So, are you staying for dinner?"

Clark nodded. "Yeah. I'm going to stay the night, too."

Mabel looked at him and stopped stirring. Stepping away from the stove, she wiped her hands on her apron and went to him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a hard week, that's all," Clark said, ducking his head so he didn't have to meet her eyes.

"Is this about your mother taking a job with Lionel?"

"No. I mean, I'm not thrilled, but no."

Mabel put her hand on his arm. "If you want to talk, Clark ..."

"No, I'm fine. I just .... I need to be away from home right now. That's all. And Lex is always saying I can stay here, so I thought ..." He trailed off and shrugged.

Mabel squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sure Lex will be happy to have you here. He's in a teleconference right now, but it shouldn't be too much longer. Do you want a snack while you're waiting for him? I baked oatmeal cookies this morning."

Clark smiled, relieved that she wasn't probing, and nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great."

Mabel fixed him a plate and then shooed him out of the kitchen. She had about five different things going, and Clark was amazed at the ease with which she moved among them all. It was impressive.

It was strange walking through the house. Clark had grown so used to the castle being relatively deserted when he was there, but now, well, there were people. There was a woman polishing the floor in the front hall with some sort of machine, three people in the dining room setting it up for dinner, and gardeners outside. It felt weird to have so many people around. Not that there had never been people before, it was just, well, they weren't always there. Once Lex's allergies started clearing up, there hadn't been a need to keep a staff on the grounds at all times to dust and vacuum and otherwise sanitize the house. They'd come, do their job, and disappear. Now, with Lionel living here, there was always staff in the house.

Clark was walking past the stairs when he heard Lex call, "Clark!" from the top.

He stopped and looked up as Lex jogged down, looking worried.

"Hey," Clark said. "Mabel said you were in a meeting."

"Teleconference, yes. We're taking a quick breather; things got a little hot. What's going on?" His eyes ran over Clark's body, and he took the strap of Clark's overnight bag.

Clark shrugged. "Nothing. I'm staying the night."

A crease formed between Lex's eyebrows. "Do your parents know?"

"Can you call them and tell them I'm staying over? And if I'm really careful, I probably won't hurt you or break anything or otherwise be too dangerous to be around you?" He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.

Lex was immediately concerned. "Clark, what happened?" he asked, putting his hand on Clark's arm.

Clark was about to answer when Lex's beeper went off.

"Damn it," he swore, checking the screen. "I've got to go back to the meeting." He looked back up. "Are you going to be okay?"

He sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm going to go to the relaxation room right now." He sighed and slid his overnight bag off his shoulder so Lex could take it. "Will you call my folks?"

Lex nodded. "Of course." He leaned in and kissed Clark's cheek. "This will be in your room, which is across the hall from mine. Just for appearances sake. I'll see you at dinner." He kissed Clark's cheek again and ran up the stairs, hauling the bag with him.

Clark watched him go, admiring his ass, before heading to the relaxation room. He kept the key around his neck along with the key to the safe deposit box. Slipping the twine over his head, Clark unlocked the door and entered the dimly lit room.

The Porsche was still in the center, now covered with a drop cloth. Clark sighed and walked up to it, touching it gently. It bothered him to see it. Maybe it reminded Lex of where he came from, but all Clark could feel when he looked at it was Lex's life slowly sliding out of him. He wondered idly what Lex would do if he broke it to pieces, and then forced himself to step away. It wasn't for him to decide what Lex did and didn't need. Besides, Lex would be devastated if he did.

He wandered the room a few minutes, touching each of the items stored inside. There was the mug shot of Clark from when he'd been arrested for allegedly torching Desiree's car. Next to it was a disk with "Museum Security" written on it. And next to that was a piece of orange rubber Clark didn't even want to look at; if it were up to him, he could live his entire life without seeing another orange squeaky ball and be perfectly happy.

When there was nothing more to look at, Clark opened the wall and went to the room. Music started playing the moment he stepped in, but he turned it off, not in the mood for relaxation. Instead, he stepped into his cooling chamber, flipped on something loud and driving, and flopped into one of the couches, throwing his backpack on the floor and putting the cookies next to him.

The cooling chamber was perfect. There was even a reading lamp for him. He switched it on and pulled out his notebook. His homework had been completed during gym. Now that swimming was over, the class was doing soccer, and Clark was spending the period in the library or the Torch office. He wondered what Reynolds would say about the fact he couldn't do sports in gym. The man already though Clark was a slacker, something that made Clark see red. It wasn't like he never did anything; he did write for the Torch, sometimes, and not just the lunch menu. He'd also run for class president, and it wasn't his fault he wasn't elected. And what about the school blood drive? He'd helped Lana set the whole thing up. Why wasn't that on his record?

"It's so unfair," he muttered. "And this essay is stupid."

It was. In five years, he was going to be a senior in college. The trouble was, he didn't know what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he wasn't particularly ready to choose a path. He was only sixteen, and he'd never even done anything. Hell, he'd never even been to Metropolis until he was a teenager last year. He'd always thought he'd explore his options a little more before he chose a path. It wasn't like there was any pressure; even Lex only wanted him to keep his mind open to new possibilities, not choose a career now.

Clark worried his bottom lip. Bending down, he pulled a pen from his backpack.

"Where I See Myself in Five Years by Clark Kent," he wrote. Then he lifted his pen to his mouth and chewed on the end.

"I can't," he whispered. But then, his anger swept over him again and he nodded. "I will."

"I was adopted by farmers when I was three years old," he wrote. "My whole life, all I've known is farming and life in a small town. Yes, I've seen movies and television shows depicting life in the city and in other countries. I've read a plethora of books set in every imaginable location, from a fishing village to outer space, and plenty of placed in between. Some might say this is enough to know what the world is like, but I know books are no substitute for experience. Reading about the world or viewing it from a lens is not the same as being in it, breathing, living, and feeling the world.

"I'm sixteen years old and a sophomore in high school. I have thought about what I want to be when I'm older, but have come to no conclusions. The one thing I do know is I don't want to be a farmer, and that presents a difficulty for me since, as I said, farming is the only life I've ever known. It's not that I think that farming isn't a good life. On the contrary, I love Smallville; it's my home and will always be a part of me. My parents have a good life, and I can only hope to be as fortunate as they are. However, farming doesn't call to me. My parents have always said I am meant for other things, and I can feel that is true. I just don't know what I want to do.

"I am hesitant to map out my life, even if you're just asking for the next five years. There are some things I know I'll do: marry the person I love. Stay with them and create a life. Follow my dreams and do something I enjoy. But I don't want to set my life down now because I'm afraid of narrowing my vision. I need to expand it, see the world before deciding who and what I am going to be. So, this essay will focus on generalities. I'll tell you what I love, what my passion is, and then speculate what I might do with it in the future. That way, I'll be able to focus my goals without making them so narrow, I lose sight of the possibilities the world contains."

Clark stopped and reread what he'd written. He nodded, pleased with it, and then continued.

"I suppose I should start with the obvious: I plan to go to college. There are obstacles, of course. My family doesn't have a lot of money, and the college savings that my parents have tried to create has disappeared in the face of mounting debt. I don't mean to imply they are at fault in any way. We are a family-run farm, and don't draw in the profit we'd like, even in a good year. The past few years have been hard. But we do our best and make a living. It doesn't, however, leave a lot left over, so when I go to college, I'll have to work my way through. That's fine; I've never been afraid of hard work, nor have I shirked it. If my school record now doesn't show that I've done a lot for the school, then it's because I'm working on the farm or doing deliveries.

"I will go to college, though, even if I start at a community college and then transfer to a university. There's no shame at starting at the bottom as long as I keep honest and work hard. My father did the same thing, and he's one of the best men I know.

"I don't know what I'll major in, but right now my interests lie in writing and helping people. I know I have a lot of options, and that there are many professions that fall under the category of "helping people" if you look at them the right way. I'm not interested in law enforcement or the military, and I'm unsure if I'm cut out for the corporate world. I suppose I could look into the medical field; so far, I seem to be good at math and science, and find both fairly interesting. I like computers, but not enough to go into any sort of career with them. I guess I could teach, and although it sounds interesting, right now, I really can't see myself standing in front of a classroom for six hours a day, trying to get kids to learn. So, while there are plenty of things I am good at, and things I can do to help humanity, right now none of them really appeal to me.

"So writing, then. Before last year, I wasn't really interested in writing, but that's not true anymore. Last year, I started writing regularly, almost every day. At first, it was a chore, but the more I did it, the more I began to enjoy writing. So much so, in fact, that I could see myself writing professionally."

Clark continued on for five more pages, talking about how much he enjoyed writing, and how he'd begun writing essays about being a teenager in a small town, and what it was like to be adopted. He put down how he'd looked on the Internet to see what type of magazines would accept his work, and tips for writing essays, and the typical income of a freelance writer. He wrote about his thoughts on doing human interests stories verses hard hitting journalistic stories. He poured all his thoughts into the essay, including his ideas on what he'd take in college to encourage his writing ability and expand his mind as well.

When he was done, he read the essay over and smiled. It was all there. All the things he'd been thinking about lately, ever since his conversation with Lex about the possibility of him being a writer. Clark had thought about it, and worked out his thoughts in his journal in private. But, that was the thing: his thoughts on this were private right now. Not even Lex knew he was seriously considering becoming a freelance writer for magazines. Clark wasn't sure if he was ready to share.

That was why this wasn't really the essay he was going to turn in. He'd like to, if only because he was so angry at Reynolds for sweeping into town and making assumptions about him without finding out anything about his life first. So this essay was all the things he secretly wanted to tell Reynolds, like about how he worked every day, which was why he didn't do a lot of extra stuff. And how stupid it was to expect him to know where he was going to be in five years when he wasn't always sure where he'd be in six months. At the same time, it was nice to explore the possibilities of writing for a living. But ... it was hard, opening up like that to a stranger. Telling him what Clark was thinking about, what he was doing. He couldn't turn it in.

He sighed and set the essay aside. Turning to a fresh page in his notebook, he started writing again. This essay concentrated on helping people through investigative journalism. It was actually Chloe's interest, and he used every bit of knowledge she'd ever shared with him about the journalism profession, including the twenty pages of notes she'd taken and typed for him from the convention he'd missed. It flowed easily, taking shape and substance, and ended up being five and a half pages long.

He wondered if taking someone else's dream was considered plagiarism before deciding he didn't care. He just wanted to get the essay over with.

The cookies Mabel had given him disappeared as he wrote. Each time he ate another one, it was noticeably colder than the last. Clark liked it. He liked the way he felt in the chamber. He'd made it cold enough that he could feel it biting into his cheeks, but not cold enough to make him feel like he needed to warm up. It was very comfortable, like going outside in his pajamas after it snowed.

He finished the last cookie just as he wrapped up his essay. When it was done, he closed his eyes and laid back on the couch. His mind cleared of the pressure of mapping out his future, it drifted back to his past and to family.

It was hard not to hate his parents right now. Really hard. Not that he wanted to hate them, but he couldn't help it. All his life he'd been afraid of being abandoned, of being not good enough to love. And he'd always felt different from everyone else because he'd been so isolated. His gifts mostly felt like curses. They forced him to keep everyone at arm’s length, but he always took comfort in the fact that he had his family.

Clark had never told his parents that he'd tried to call Granddad in the sixth grade. He'd been too embarrassed by his failure. He'd even chided himself for believing too much in happily ever after. It's just been that, he'd been convinced that if Granddad Clark just got to know him, he'd want to be involved in Clark's life. Maybe he'd come down for Christmas, or for his birthday or something. It wasn't that his parents weren't enough, it was simply that he wanted more. He wanted to feel like everyone else. All the kids at school had grandparents, people who spoiled them, or yelled at them, or treated them like kids and fought with their parents. Who baked cookies for them and sewed quilts and clothes and took them to the movies. Everyone, it seemed, was part of a larger family unit than just their mom and dad.

Except for Clark. Clark, who had two dead grandparents on his father's side, and two who wouldn't talk to him. When Granddad hadn't called back, Clark had figured there must be something about him that made Granddad not want to see him.

But now he knew the truth: it wasn't that he didn't want to know Clark, it was that his parents didn't want them to know each other. Because Clark was an alien.

In a way, the fact that Dad had held onto his grudge against Granddad was Clark's fault. Because Mom would have made them make up a long time ago if they hadn't had to keep him a secret.

He sighed heavily, a plum of white rushing out and dancing in the air around his face.

There was a tap at the door. "Clark?" Lex called.

Clark rolled off the couch and opened the door. "Hey."

"Did you want to come to dinner?" Lex asked. He reached out and touched Clark's cold cheek, smiling a little.

"Yeah, I guess. Did you call my parents?"

Lex nodded. "Your mom said you could stay the night, and that you were cleared from your chores tomorrow morning."

"Okay. Thanks." He stepped out of the box and hugged Lex to him. "Did she tell you what happened?"

"She said you were upset about your grandfather and left it at that. I figured that you would tell me anything else." He buried his fingers in Clark's hair. "How long are you planning to stay?"

Clark sighed and kissed Lex's neck. "Can I move in?"

He laughed. "Not yet. Among other things, I don't think your new principal would be very supportive of you doing so."

"Fuck him."

Lex laughed again. "I don't think he swings that way."

Clark pulled back. "I'm serious. I don't like being picked on like this. I mean, did he even read my record? It's not like I've had the easiest year. I'm a flight risk."

"As demonstrated today." Lex raised an eyebrow and stepped past Clark into the box. He shivered, but picked up Clark's notebooks and put them into his backpack. "Clark, Reynolds isn't going to coddle you. He won't watch from a distance and try to figure out whether or not telling you that you answered a question wrong will make you take off. He'll treat you the same way he's treated young men for years: with stern discipline and little sympathy." His nose and cheeks were turning pink from the cold, and his breath was visible. Shivering, he stepped out of the box and handed Clark his backpack. "And maybe that's what you need."

"I don't need to be picked on!"

"He's not picking on you. He's doing this because he genuinely cares about the welfare of his students. About your future."

He shook his head and slung his backpack over his shoulder. "He's only doing it because you're my friend and he doesn't like you. I had to write this stupid essay where I lied my ass off because he's got a grudge against my boyfriend."

Lex's face went blank. "His problems with me," he said coldly, "like so many people's problems with me, revolve around my father. Apparently, Dad got Reynolds dismissed from Excelsior after my stunt, and bought my way back in with a generous donation. So not only does it look as if I'm trying to corrupt the youth of this town, but by offering to donate new computers to the school, I looked as if I was simply following in Dad's footsteps."

Clark swallowed and closed his eyes. He should have known; there was no way in the world Lex would look up to someone when he knew that person hated him. "I'm sorry, Lex. I didn't know." When Lex didn't say anything, he opened his eyes and added, "He shouldn't judge you because of your father."

He snorted, eyebrow arching.

Cheeks warm, Clark added, "And I'm not trying to blame you for my troubles. I'm just so pissed at him."

Lex put his hand on his shoulder. "I know." He squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Why did you lie in your essay?"

"I don't want him to read what I wrote originally." He opened his eyes and smiled sheepishly.

"May I?"

Clark bit his lip. "Can I think about it? I just think what I wrote might be kind of stupid, as opposed to the lie. You know?"

"I'm sure it's not stupid. I just want to see where you really think you'll be in five years, that's all." He caressed Clark's cheek with the back of his hand. "Please?"

"Don't look at me like that, Lex," Clark begged, smile tugging at his lips. "You know I can't resist."

Lex fisted his hands into the shirt, gazing up at Clark through big eyes. "Please?" He kissed Clark's top lip, and then his bottom lip. "Please?" Teeth scraped along his jaw up to his earlobe.

Clark could feel his resolve weakening even as his cock hardened. "I guess so. But after dinner."

"Thank you." Lex kissed him properly, with a lot of tongue and a grope to his ass. When he pulled back, Clark was breathless and horny. "Dinner time."

He groaned. "You suck."

"Yes," Lex answered with a wicked smile. "But not until after dinner."

________________________________________

"How does your father feel about your mother's new job, Clark?" Lionel asked, a smile playing around his lips.

Lex froze minutely, eyes on Clark. He'd felt trepidation since the meal had started, but Dad had been behaving up until now. In fact, except for a dismissive, "Clark," when they'd sat down, Lionel had been flat out ignoring him.

Clark finished what he was eating and then shrugged. "He's cool," he said a little diffidently.

Lionel frowned. "Cool?" he repeated as if Clark had made up the word and was currently shouting it while sitting in the middle of the table with a bowl of food upside-down on his head. "Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool. Like, you know. Fine."

"Jonathan Kent is fine with his wife working for me."

Clark's lips twitched and he glanced at Lex. He looked very amused at Lionel's tone of disbelief, which made Lex feel encouraged. He smiled at Clark and winked.

"Well, you know," Clark said, sounding for all the world he was trying very hard to make his meaning clear. "He's okay. I guess."

Lionel raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like the Jonathan Kent I know."

One shoulder hitched. "Oh."

He was silent for a couple beats before saying, "The Jonathan Kent I know is hot tempered, stupid, and prone to act before he thinks. He, ah, actually hit his own father in law, from what I've heard. He was opposed the marriage and Jonathan, being Jonathan Kent and not understanding how to act around civilized people, punched him." He went silent again and speared a piece of asparagus on his plate. Then, suddenly, a look washed over his face and he turned towards Clark. "Wait a moment, now," he said in a tone of wonder. "Didn't I hear that William Clark was in town?"

Lex fought not to roll his eyes. "Yes, Dad. Martha mentioned it to you. While I was in the room. Speaking with both of you," Lex said condescendingly. Sometimes, his father was an evil genius; other times, he was so fucking obvious, it physically hurt.

"Right." Lionel's voice hardened, but he kept his eyes on Clark. Then, in a completely different tone, he asked Clark, "How was the visit?"

A muscle in Clark's jaw twitched, but he managed to say evenly, "Fine."

Lionel put his knife down. "And your father and William were ..."

"Fine."

Lionel blinked. "Something urgent must have drawn him out here, I would think. What were his intentions?"

"Visit."

"Not because of your family's financial situation?" His voice was sharp now, obviously annoyed at the fact that Clark wasn't playing.

Lex sat up straighter, ready to cut in, but Clark just said, "I dunno. Maybe."

"Your family is, as I understand, struggling financially. The bank won't even give you a loan."

"Yeah."

"So. Was your grandfather here to help alleviate the pain of your father's failure?"

Clark's eyes grew dark and he took a moment before answering. Once again, Lex was ready to jump in when, suddenly, Clark pushed his rice around on his plate with his fork and said, "Dunno."

Lionel inclined his head. "Tell me, Clark," he said sharply, "do you know anything?"

Clark's lips twitched and it took him a second before he was able to say, "I guess."

The response was a snort, and then Lionel returned to eating.

After a few minutes of silence, Lex raised his wine glass to Clark and mouthed, "Cheers." Clark flushed, smirked, and shrugged, then finished the meal in silence.

After they were done, Lionel rose and left with a short, "Thank you for the delightful conversation."

When he was gone, Clark grinned and tossed his napkin on the table. "You're welcome," he said, stretching. Then he asked, "How'd I do?"

Lex shook his head and grinned. "Clark, that was perfect. You didn't let him get to you at all."

"He got to me, I just didn't show it. Anything I do, he'll just hang over Mom's head eventually. If I don't, then she'll be safe, right?"

Lex felt his heart twist slightly, but he just nodded and smiled. "Yes, you're right." He rose and walked around the table to Clark. "I'm proud of you," he whispered, kissing Clark's forehead.

"Save it for when I'm really brave," Clark replied, blushing.

"You were." He kissed him again. "Let's go upstairs." They did, after a quick stop to the kitchen for snacks.

"Am I allowed to come in?" Clark asked, hesitating at the door to Lex's bedroom. He glanced around him, and then inside a little warily.

"Yes, you are. You can even spend the night in here. I just have a room set up for you for show." He shrugged. "It remains to be seen if it'll fool anyone." He climbed onto the bed and set the snack tray down. "Close the door."

Clark did, but still hung back even when the door was closed. Lex repressed a sigh and set the tray on the nightstand. "Come here," he ordered.

Reluctantly, Clark pulled away and went to him. When he was close enough, Lex took his hand and tugged him closer to the bed. He sank onto the plush comforter, eyes locked on Clark's, no longer pulling at him, simply waiting for Clark to close the distance himself.

He still hesitated, glancing uneasily at the door.

"No one is even allowed on this floor after eight, Clark. And there is nothing suspicious about our being in here; there's a television, it's comfortable. Besides, I've taken precautions to make sure if anyone were to speculate on our relationship to outsiders, they will be dealt with harshly."

Clark nodded slightly and, after a moment, climbed onto the bed with him. "I just don't want to get you in trouble," he said softly, laying his head on Lex's shoulder.

Lex stroked his hair gently. "You won't. You are over the age of consent for this state. The only thing I could be charged with is having sex with a man, and that law is so rarely enforced. Besides, if anything were to happen .... If we were to be outted irrevocably, I'd deal. We'd deal. I'm not ashamed of our relationship."

"I know, but you have ... ambitions."

"Yes. I do. But I'm also not the only businessman in a homosexual relationship. And, if I do go into politics, I won't be the only bisexual politician. I will find a way to turn it to my advantage, Clark. I don't want you worrying about it."

Lips brushed against his neck. "Now you're bi again?"

He sighed and smiled softly. "I'm not monosexual. No, I don't like labeling myself, but the American people need labels, so, if I must, label myself I will."

"What about me? Can I say I'm mostly gay with some bisexual leanings?"

This time, he laughed. "You can say you are anything you want, Clark. Just remember, as a group, people are dumb, so too many words are going to confuse them. But you do what you want."

"Okay." He lifted his head and kissed Lex. "Sorry about being freaked. It's just all so different from before."

He nodded. "I know. I ... Ever since Dad moved in, everything that was beginning to feel like home here disappeared. Your house this summer, staying there .... That was home." He shrugged. "Every once in a while, I think that I should let Dad have the mansion, and take Mabel and Damien and move to a house in town somewhere. Like in one of the Luthor Corp homes. Or build my own on a tract of land somewhere around."

"Why don't you?"

Lex sighed dramatically, "I think of my cars. I can't move somewhere without a home for them."

Clark laughed, eyes shutting as he palmed his forehead. "You and your cars," he managed between his laughs. "Sometimes, I think I should be jealous."

"Don't be. If it came down to you or the cars, I'd probably choose you," Lex said as seriously as he could manage.

Clark laughed harder.

After a moment, Lex smiled and kissed Clark into silence. He pushed Clark back onto the bed and straddled his body. "Feel better?" he asked when the broke apart, breathless.

"Yeah," Clark answered, running his hands up Lex's spine. "I just sort of wish it could go back to the way it used to be. When it was ...." His cheeks turned bright red, and Clark looked away.

"When it was what?"

He swallowed hard and then whispered, "Our place."

Lex felt the smile breaking over his face before he even thought about it. "Yeah," he whispered, tracing Clark's ear. "So do I." They kissed again. When the broke apart, Lex crossed his arms on Clark's chest and propped his chin on them. "So. What's going on?"

Clark sighed. "Nothing, I guess. I mean, it's stupid."

"No, it's not."

"No" he agreed softly, "it's not." He sighed and rubbed Lex's back. "It's my grandfather. Apparently it's not just that there's bad blood between Dad and him. He tried to get involved in my life when I was a kid, and my parents wouldn't let him. So they, like, let the bad feelings build up or continue or something until there was even more resentment between them."

Lex shook his head, trying not to clench his jaw too hard. "It has nothing to do with you, Clark."

"Yes it ..."

"No," Lex cut him off harshly. "It has nothing to do with you. All the tension and bad feelings between your parents and your grandfather is between them and no one else. They used you as an excuse to carry on the hostilities. It's easier to be mistrustful of someone than to forgive."

Clark frowned. "At the same time, there is some merit to what they said. I mean, I am an alien. Most people would be afraid of me. Unsure. If there really was as much mistrust as Mom said, I guess it makes sense. It just doesn't make it hurt any less."

"No. I suppose it doesn't." He sighed and kissed Clark's neck. "I'm sorry, Clark. I know how much you wanted him to be a part of your life. I wish he could be."

Clark smiled faintly before lying back on the bed. "The worst thing is knowing that I'd basically do the same thing if I had to."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged awkwardly. "Let's say that we stay together and, like, get married or have a commitment ceremony or something. And, let's say, something happens where you decide that you need an heir, so we get a kid. Like adoption or something."

"I'm with you. Marriage, heir, adoption."

"Right, well, if any of that happens, I don't know if I'd want your father involved at all. With the kid, I mean."

Lex frowned and reached out to caress Clark's stomach. The truth was, he hadn't thought about it. Not really. He'd thought about making a formal commitment to Clark once he'd graduated from college and joked about having Martha and Jonathan as in-laws. He'd had his freak our over his chances of having an heir when he realized that he and Clark had been linked since childhood. He'd also idly thought about adopting or finding a surrogate. But beyond those idle fancies, he'd never really seriously sat down and considered all the implications.

One, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to be a father. It wasn't as if he'd had the best example of what it was to be one, and Lex really didn't want to be responsible for raising someone as fucked up as he was. He couldn't even really imagine what it would be like trying to raise a child--a child, not an heir. An heir was a different concept than a child. Lex was an heir. An heir was something that carried on the family name. A child was ... a human being. A child. A child symbolized a couple's love and commitment and required care and attention. You had to love them and read to them and let them know that they were the center of your universe.

Lex wasn't sure if he could do that. It was such a big job, and he didn't feel up to it.

But all that was beside the point. Theoretically, in ten years or more, he and Clark might decide they wanted a kid. And Clark didn't want Lionel to have anything to do with that kid.

He sighed. "That might cause a problem."

"Why?" Clark frowned and lifted his head.

Feeling foolish for even discussing this, Lex answered, "Because, unless something happens between then and now, he's going to be a part of my life. He's a competitor, part of my social circle, and my father. I don't know if I want to cut him out of my life."

"But do you want him harming your child?"

God, this was so stupid. They were getting defensive over a child that didn't exist. Keeping that in mind, Lex forced himself to keep his voice steady as he answered, "No, of course not. But people change."

"He won't change," he said firmly, anger at the edge of his voice.

"Clark, our child won't just be some kid. He'll be the heir to the Luthor fortune. Dad will respect that."

Clark shook his head. "But, unless we get a surrogate mother and inseminate her with your sperm, our child won't, by blood, be a Luthor. Will your father still see it as one?"

Lex opened his mouth and then closed it. The back of his mind was wondering if teenage boys were supposed to think about artificial insemination and adoption, while the front part was thinking, "Huh. I wonder if Dad would accept our kid if we adopted."

After a moment, he shook his head to clear it and answered, "I don't know. But shouldn't we give him that chance? Yes, maybe he'd reject our child's claim to being a Luthor, but he might not. And, until we know, I can't just cut him out of my life, Clark. He's my father."

Clark sighed and laid his head back. "I know. I know. But I hate him."

"I know." He traced Clark's lips gently. "Don't worry about it right now, okay? You're talking about events that are years in the future." He kissed Clark's neck. "I'm sorry about your grandfather. And I'm sure if your parents had to do it again ..."

"They'd make the same choices," Clark interrupted. "I'm too dangerous."

"You were too dangerous. But you've grown and learned how to control your powers. You aren't a danger anymore." He kissed Clark's neck again.

"I guess."

"I know." Lex kissed him softly on the lips. "And don't worry about the future, Clark," he whispered. "We don't know what's going to happen, so there is no sense in getting tied in knots over it. Especially a child. We're both too young to be thinking about this."

That got a smile from Clark. "Yeah, you're right," he said as he slid his hand up Lex's back.

"Besides, we might get lucky," Lex said thoughtfully. "Dad might die before we ever have a kid, and we won't have to worry about it at all."

Clark looked at him a moment, and then started laughing. "Yeah. We might get lucky."

________________________________________

Clark woke slowly to a strange, soft music that seemed to crawl underneath his skin and vibrate there. It surrounded him, cradling him softly as he floated out of the twilight area between dreams and wakefulness. He yawned hugely when his consciousness was just below the surface of his skin, stretching to allow blood to flow to all the sleeping areas of his body, not wanting to wake, but not dreading it either.

When he was more awake than not and could no longer ignore it, he groaned and rolled over to Lex's side of the bed, expecting to find the warm, receptive body of his boyfriend.

What he found was the soft, smushy-ness of a pillow and cold sheets.

Frowning, Clark sat up and looked around the room.

Lex was in the far corner of the room. He was still in his pajamas, feet bare, and he was standing on an exercise mat. His eyes were closed in concentration, and he was bending slowly downward. He hung there a moment, before lunging. After a slow breath, he pulled his leg back and made his body perfectly straight before lowering to the floor. Once again he paused before pushing his upper body up so his back was arched.

His eyes were now open and he froze, gazing at Clark.

"Morning," Clark said, feeling as if he were interrupting something.

"Morning," Lex answered. Then, after a moment, he said, "Go take a shower, okay? I'll be done in about fifteen minutes."

Clark nodded and slid out of bed. "What are you doing?"

His ears turned pink. "Saluting the sun."

"You are so cute."

"Shut up. You and Damien are the ones who are always telling me I should do yoga. And now you're making fun of me?"

Clark crouched in front of Lex, who was still lying on the floor, back arched. "Not at all. I was simply remarking on your physical attractiveness." He kissed Lex softly. "Keep yoga-ing; I'll shower."

"Enjoy your shower."

"I will." They kissed once more, and then Clark rose and went into the bathroom.

This was nice. For the first time all year, Clark actually had time to linger in the shower. Usually, he was so rushed, even when he got up early. His father always had enough chores to fill up Clark's time. It was frustrating.

Today, though, he had all the time in the world, and he was going to take advantage of it. He'd take a long, leisurely shower in which he reveled in the lukewarm water cascading over his body and hope fervently for Lex to join him.

Last night had been a good night. They'd talked for a while before they both pulled out some work (well, Lex worked, Clark read) and stretched out on the bed in comfortable silence. In the back of his mind, Clark knew that he was failing as a teenager since he wasn't demanding sex. Anyone else in his position would have been. After all, the set up was perfect. They were alone (if you ignored the staff, Lionel, Damien and Mabel), and at Lex's. It was a school night, which didn't really mean anything except they usually weren't together on a school night, so there was the touch of the forbidden to it. They should have had sex.

Except, he hadn't needed to have sex with Lex as much as he'd needed to be away from his parents with someone he knew loved him. And that was enough. Lying next to him, listening to him breathe and make disgusted grunts when he came across something that wasn't to his satisfaction gave Clark the grounding he needed after the past few days.

It reminded him that, no matter what, someone wanted him and someone didn't think he was some scary, dangerous thing that had to be hidden from the rest of the world. Which he knew wasn't fair to his parents or his grandfather, but he couldn't help the bruised feelings. Besides, everyone was always telling him that he was allowed to feel whatever he felt, and right now he felt as if his parents didn't trust him.

After he'd finished working, Lex had read both of Clark's essays. He hadn't said much about them, except to ask which one Clark was planning to turn in and to make a few corrections and suggestions to both. Then he'd asked Clark to type and print out both of them, which he had before he'd gone to sleep.

The bathroom door opened and, a moment later, Lex stepped into the shower. "If you're trying to piss Dad off by using up all the hot water, you're going to fail miserably," he said with a smile. "There are multiple water heaters here."

Clark rolled his eyes and pulled Lex under the shower head. "I wasn't even thinking that. I was just enjoying myself."

Lex smirked and squeezed his ass. "Can I enjoy you too? I want to send you to school glowing."

He dropped a kiss on the juncture between Lex's neck and shoulder. "I don't really glow, right?"

Fingers slid between his cheeks, caressing the puckered skin around his opening.

"Mmmm, of course you do." He straddled Clark's leg and rode his cock into it gently. "Haven't you noticed that whenever we have sex, you light up like a light bulb?"

"Must have missed it," Clark answered, moaning softly as Lex's knee brushed against his balls.

"It's quite beautiful."

He laughed in his throat and shifted as Lex's fingers probed gently. Small jets of heat curled in his stomach, making his knees weak.

Lex was mouthing hot kisses on his neck, biting the skin gently. "I've missed you so much," he whispered into Clark's skin.

"I haven't gone anywhere," he gasped, kissing Lex wherever he could, hands rubbing up and down his spine.

"You haven't been here," Lex answered, sliding down Clark's body to his knees. "You haven't slept over since before the tornado."

"Oh," Clark said, frowning. Then the frown went away and he groaned, "Oh," as Lex's mouth slid down his hard cock.

Lex took him about half way in, only to slurp back up to the tip. Wrapping his hands around the base of Clark's cock, Lex rubbed the tip over his upper palate. Hard waves of pleasure crashed through Clark, making his knees feel weak and body overheated. His fingers grasped at the slick walls, and he barely refrained from digging them through the hard tile as Lex swallowed more of him, tongue working against his sensitive flesh. The only thing keeping Clark from making the handholds was the thought that he'd have to walk past the walls every time he tried to go the relaxation room if he did. Instead, he grabbed onto the soap dish and toiletries shelf as he panted and writhed.

Lex pulled his mouth off Clark's cock. "You need to hold still," he said, moving his hands to Clark's hips. He thrust Clark's body flush against the shower wall and then, after pushing back his foreskin, wrapped his lips around just the head of Clark's cock.

"Lex, yes. Right ... like ... there, don't ... right," Clark gasped, trying to hold his hips still as Lex's tongue laved over the head of his cock.

It twisted and slid around the head, varying pressure so that fireworks exploded behind Clark's eyes and he had to keep them shut so he didn't set anything on fire. He could feel himself leaking slow drops onto Lex's tongue as his stomach clenched and burned, orgasm close.

And then Lex released him. "Turn around," he ordered hoarsely.

"Wha?"

"Turn." Lex guided Clark around.

Clark obeyed, his cheek pressed into the slick shower wall, hands on either side of his head. He had to refrain from humping the wall, knowing that it wouldn't provide any relief, but almost too desperate not to try.

Lex was still kneeling behind him. He place a gentle kiss on the dimple above Clark's ass before parting his cheeks.

"Lex?" Clark gasped. "What are you going to do?"

Instead of answering, Lex pressed the tip of his tongue against Clark's entrance. It slid in slightly, barely enough for him to feel, and twisted around.

Clark groaned loudly even as a fission of fear went through him. Lex hadn't done this in over a year, and when he had, Clark had popped the ball. What if ...

 _Clark_ Lex said sharply. His tongue slid in further, and Clark's fear melted away in a storm of sensation.

Lex's tongue slid in and out of him. He was twisting it as he pulled out, and then driving deep and firm. It was so different from having a cock inside him, but is stomach clenched and burned with the same need. His entire being was focused on his opening, feeling Lex's tongue delving inside him, then pulling out of play along the puckered skin around it, teasing and toying until Clark's knees turned to jelly.

The tile cracked beneath his fingers.

Tongue still teasing Clark intimately, Lex slid his hand around to Clark's cock. His hand was slick with soap and vaguely Clark wondered where he'd gotten it. Then he didn't care, as Lex began to jerk him off in hard, sure strokes.

Clark's eyes began to burn. "Lex," he moaned, the tile cracking even more as his fingers pressed into the wall.

Lex hummed in response, his tongue buried in Clark's ass, nose pressed into the crease. His fingers moved back to the stretch of skin behind Clark's balls, and he pressed hard, massaging him.

Electricity crackled over his skin. Clark felt pressure building up behind his eyes, and he squeezed them so tight, he saw red stars burst behind his eyelids.

"I'm gonna come," he warned gasping, forcibly flattening his hands until his fingers bent away from the wall.

Pleasure boiled up through Clark, curling his toes and bubbling swiftly through his blood. Lex tongue slid slowly out of him, causing him to whimper, cock twitching as the first pulse of his orgasm hit him. Clark bit his lip, catching the wail the started to escape, his body trembling, legs barely supporting his weight. His hand joined Lex's between his legs and he stroked his twitching cock, catching the semen that was spurting from him as Lex laved at his entrance and pressed against his premium.

He was gasping and crying and shaking from the hot bolts of pleasure that wracked his body when Lex suddenly slid two fingers inside him. They pushed through any resistance, opening Clark quickly and found his prostate. Lex massaged it from the inside and outside, causing sparks to flash behind Clark's eyes.

An unexpected wave of hot, liquid pleasure rushed through Clark, making his head spin. He screamed, back arching at the onslaught, almost losing control. His eyes burned and threatened to explode; quickly, he brought his hand to his eyes to cover them.

It wasn't until his head hit the ceiling that Clark realized he was airborne.

"Shit," he gasped, trembling uncontrollably. He released his cock and put one hand on the ceiling, holding him in place, hovering above the shower. His cock was still pulsing, although he'd crested and was coming down from the rush of his orgasm, but his eyes still burned, so he kept them closed.

Beneath him, he heard Lex gasp and make a small, sexy whimper.

"Lex?" he panted.

"Oh, God, Clark. You look so hot." He sounded short of breath and sultry, as if he were speaking while coming.

Clark allowed himself to crack open his eyes. When no heat shot out, he opened them all the way and glanced down.

Lex was lying on the shower floor, his cock limp and spent, cheeks flushed, Clark's semen being washed from his head, chest, and legs. His eyes were lazy and satisfied as he gazed up at Clark.

"One day, you have to learn to do that first. Looking at you makes me want to be fucked up there."

One hand still on the ceiling, Clark smiled. "I thought you were are afraid of heights."

"Fear is part of the kink." He tilted his head. "You look gorgeous."

"I think you're biased. I think I probably look silly." He could just barely see his reflection in the shower door and he agreed with his own assessment. His hair was stuck to his head, skin pink from the shower and sex, and his dick was limp and sticky with the come that had not fallen on Lex. It wasn't an attractive sight.

Lex shook his head. "You're obviously not seeing what I'm seeing." He sighed and put his hands behind his head. "Maybe I won't let you go to school today; I think we deserve a marathon fuck session."

"Uh, Lex? My mom works here. In this house," Clark said.

He made a face. "Damn it! I knew there was a reason I didn't want her working here." He shook his head. "Dad needs to move."

He smiled faintly. "That's what I've been saying all along." Something in him broke and changed, and Clark barely managed a croak before he fell. He tumbled gracelessly, arms and legs flying out, and he landed hard right on Lex's ankle.

"Ah!" Lex groaned, face contorting.

Clark rolled off quickly. "Are you okay?"

"Fuck, that hurt." He pulled his foot to his body.

"I'm sorry." He gathered Lex into his arms, lifted him, and turned off the water. Then he stepped out of the shower into the bathroom, setting him onto the toilet. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine," Lex said as Clark wrapped a towel around him. Then, before he could rise, Clark lifted him into his arms once more.

"Clark," Lex protested mildly as Clark carried him into the bathroom and wrapped him in a towel. "I'm not a girl."

"I did notice that. A few times," Clark replied lightly, walking into the bedroom.

Breakfast was laid out on a tray next to the bed. It was loaded with pancakes, juice, coffee, fruit, eggs, and bacon.

"Do you usually eat that much?" Clark asked as he laid Lex on the bed.

"No. I'm a light eater in the morning. When I haven't had sex, that is. Pass me some pancakes."

"Let me check your ankle first." He scanned Lex's ankle, which was looking a little puffy. The bone was fine. "How does it feel?"

Lex shrugged and snagged a piece of fruit from the tray. "It doesn't hurt all that much. It did when you landed on it, but I think it's okay."

"Maybe you should put some ice on it."

He sighed. "There should be an ice pack or something under the sink."

Clark raced to the bathroom searched for an icepack. There was no ice pack, but in the wine closet was a refrigerator. In that were some ice cubes in a tray, so Clark poured those into a hand towel. Then he dried himself off as much as he could, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went back into the bedroom.

Lex was already working his way through a stack of pancakes when Clark returned. He propped Lex's leg on a pillow, put the ice on it, and then sat next to him.

"There you go. Keep that on for fifteen minutes."

"Yes, Mommy," Lex said mock meekly. "Thank you."

Clark laughed and kissed Lex's temple. "You might want to get Dr. Sutton to look at it."

He nodded. "I will. But I don't think there's anything to worry about."

"Me neither. I'd just feel better." He loaded his plate with pancakes and bacon and set about to eating. They ate in silence for about ten minutes, basking in the afterglow of good sex. These were the kinds of moments Clark was beginning to appreciate more and more. Quiet, homey moments, where they were just sitting together, doing their own things. Like over the summer.

There had been far too few of these moments since they'd gotten back together. Some, in the afternoons when Lex would drop by, but not like this. Not after spending the night in the same bed, listening to each other breathe and make sleep-noises, and feel the warmth fill their bed.

Clark wished it really was their bed, and not Lex's bed that Clark sometimes slept in. He wanted a bed that they'd picked out together, and made together (although he'd bet that Lex would never make his own bed if he didn't have to) and then christened together.

"Clark," Lex said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?"

He took a sip of his coffee and then set the cup down on his tray. "I think you should turn in the first essay you wrote."

Clark rolled his eyes, unsurprised by Lex's statement. He'd known all along that Lex was going to suggest it.

"What's with the eyes?"

"Nothing. I just ... I think the first essay is whiney or something."

Lex sipped his coffee and shook his head. "Not whiney, exactly. In fact, I think it was very intelligent. You are only sixteen years old with little worldly experience, and you don't need to know exactly where you are going. But you also didn't shirk the issue; you told him what you are interested in and how you could turn that into a career. You also managed to convey that there is more going on in your life than just school. You aren't slacking off; you're working on the farm. At the same time, you didn't let that excuse you or try to gain any sympathy from it." Lex shrugged. "Reynolds needs to realize that a lot of his students do work outside of school so participation in extracurricular activities won't be like it is in a private school. He's used to working in schools where the majority of people come from stable, often wealthy, homes and the main concern of his students is getting into a good college. Not to say that shouldn't be your goal, but you've got a fairly good grasp of your reality. In addition to your daily chores, you work three times a week making deliveries. He needs to realize that you aren't simply going to school, and then going to the Talon to chat with your friends. You work. However," and Clark bit back a groan; he'd known that a "however" was going to be in there somewhere. "However, I'm sure there are activities or clubs that you can participate in. You did last year, as you pointed out in the essay. So, now, you need to find something that you can participate in that will allow you to keep up with your chores on the farm."

"Like what?

"There is always the Torch. Chloe would love to have you on the staff regularly, and she also is familiar enough with your situation to understand if you don't always get your stories in on time. Although you should try as much as you possibly can."

"But I wouldn't know what to write."

"She's the editor; she'll tell you." He spooned some fruit onto his plate. "Does your school have a literary magazine?"

Clark shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Try to find out and, if not, start one. Maybe Mr. Townsend can help you." He went very tense inside when he said Mr. Townsend's name, causing the space just above Clark's stomach to tighten. His face and voice, though, remained neutral.

He frowned, sensing that something was off. "Did you ever find anything about Mr. Townsend?"

Lex shrugged. "Yes. He turned up clean."

"He did?"

"Yes. He is exactly who he says he is: a high school English teacher who is on hiatus from getting his masters to take care of his father. His parents divorced when he was twelve, he moved with his mother to California while his father stayed in Kansas, and now he's back. He's not married and not in any serious relationship. He has no criminal record, no major indiscretions, and absolutely no connection to my dad."

Clark narrowed his eyes. "Then why do you seem upset?" he asked. He pressed his hand into his chest, reminding Lex that he couldn't hide his emotions.

Lex raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement, and shrugged. "I don't know. I really don't. He seems like he's fine. Honest. He votes, he's been known to go out to people's houses to tutor, he's on three town committees and is an active volunteer. I haven't actually met him, though, so just reading the facts off the report doesn't make me feel better about him. He's interested in you, and I'm territorial. You know that."

"Then why did you suggest I talk to him about the magazine thing?"  
He shrugged. "Because I can't hold on too tightly, as much as I'd like to. And he's an English teacher, so I think it's his subject area."

Clark leaned over and kissed Lex. "Tight or loose, I'm always yours," he whispered into Lex's lips. They kissed again, tongues brushing one another.

Lex threaded his fingers through Clark's hair. "I wish I could keep you here today."

"Me too." He kissed the corner of Lex's mouth. "But I can't. And I have to leave soon, or I'm going to be late."

He nodded and kissed Clark's upper lip. "I know."

With a final kiss, Clark pulled back and checked his watch. "I'll think about the literary magazine. It sounds like it could be interesting." He finished his pancakes quickly, and then rose to get dressed. "I'm still not comfortable with turning in that first essay, though."

"Better to tell him the truth than lie. Isn't that what your parents would say?"

"No, they'd say tell the truth unless it's going to draw attention to yourself, in which case, lie your ass off. And that essay might draw attention to me."

"Clark, my darling love? The essay means you have his attention. Now all you have to do is stand up for yourself."

Clark sighed and zipped up his pants. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I just don't want to make him mad at me."

Lex shrugged. "He might respect you more. Besides, you pilfered Chloe's future. What if she writes an essay for him and says the same thing?"

"Okay! Okay, I'll think about it. Okay?" He pulled on his shirt and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

"Do more than think. Do."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Yoda."

"No, that's 'do or do not, there is no try.'"

He rolled his eyes again and went to the bed. "How's your ankle?" he asked, taking the ice pack off.

"It's fine. Doesn't even hurt."

"Still get it checked, okay?"

"Cross my heart."

He smiled and leaned over. "Bye, Lex. I'll see you after school." He kissed Lex gently.

"You have to do chores at your place tonight."

Clark sighed. "Fine."

"And eat dinner there."

"Will you ..."

"No."

He sighed again.

"Clark. They meant well."

Clark shrugged and bit his thumb. "Doesn't stop it from hurting."

Lex caressed his cheek gently. "I know." They kissed again. "Go to school. Call me when you get home. If you need to spend the night again, you're welcome to, but talk to your parents first. They're worried."

Clark nodded. "I will. I promise." He kissed Lex a final time before pulling away. Before he left, he turned back around and smiled at Lex a little mischievously. "Lex?"

"Yes?"

"Am I glowing?"

Lex grinned. "Like an angel."

"Good." And then, whistling jauntily like a man who'd just been laid, Clark left for school.

________________________________________

The laws of the universe never changed. When you had something to do after school, like meeting friends, going to opening night of the newest action movie, or getting to spend time with your boyfriend, the hours stretched out interminably. The day dragged on, you felt every second, and every second sucked. But the moment you didn't want to go home and face your parents, classes went by like a flash.

Lex called exactly one minute after the final school bell and told him to go home. Without replying, Clark had hung up, said good-bye to Chloe and Pete, and went home.

Jonathan was nowhere to be seen when Clark arrived. He lingered outside a few minutes, wondering who he'd rather face: Mom or Dad. On the one hand, Dad would give him the whole, "I'm disappointed in you--be a man--accept responsibilities--running away is bad--don't forget to feed the cows," speech. On the other ....

Mom would be upset.

He sighed and shook his head. Ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, he clutched his backpack strap and went into the house.

Martha was sitting at the kitchen table, a laptop computer in front of her, working. When he entered, she looked up and folded her hands on the table, looking wary.

"Hey, Mom." He hesitated a moment, and then crossed the kitchen to sit across from her. "Working?"

She nodded. "Just some figures Lionel wanted me to go over. He had physical therapy this afternoon, so said I should do this at home." She smiled faintly. "I don't think he wanted me to see him after. Lex said that even though his leg is a lot better, physical therapy still wipes him out, and he doesn't like to be perceived as weak."

"No, he doesn't." He pulled his toy truck from his pants. "Uh, how is he otherwise?" he asked. Clark had avoided asking her about her job since she'd started; he still had mixed feelings about her working for Lionel. He understood that she'd taken the job to help protect their family and to find ways to prevent what had happened before from happening again. But, at the same time, Clark didn't like her being so near him all the time.

"He's fine. A perfect gentleman, actually, always courteous and thoughtful about my needs. He's given me my own office, my own phone, my own bathroom." She rolled her eyes slightly at that. "And we work well together because I just manage to refrain from beating him to a bloody pulp."

"So you don't like him."

"Of course not, sweetie. I could never like that man."

Clark smiled slightly, but kept his eyes on his truck.  
Martha's fingers tapped lightly on the table. "So," she said after an awkward moment had passed, "how was your night last night?"

Clark's smile faded. "Fine. I mostly read and worked on my essay."

"Did you turn it in on time?"

"Yeah, but I saved a copy." He hitched his shoulder. "You can read it, if you want," he added uncertainly.

"I think I will, thank you."

Clark glanced at her quickly and flashed her a small smile. Then, he looked back down at the table and took a deep breath. "Mom ... I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Huh. That surprised him; he'd thought he was supposed to be apologizing for something. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I know I should be sorry for something. I just .... I feel like everything is my fault, you know?" Clark stopped talking and licked his lips. His stomach was twisting and he felt sick, but he knew he should go on. "I was, you know. Hurt. By what you said about why you kept Granddad away. I know you didn't mean it to sound like I wasn't good enough, or I was too dangerous or I didn't deserve to have an extended family, but that's what it feels like. My birth parents sent me away, I was kept isolated here, and I wasn't even allowed to know my grandparents. There's, uh, always been this part of me that's thought that maybe I just wasn't good enough. You know, for my parents and ... and for Granddad and ... and ..." Clark broke off and shook his head.

"Clark?"

Clark swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "I guess that I just always thought I'd done something wrong not to deserve having grandparents like other kids. And, so, I also sort of thought that if I was really good and didn't do anything wrong, at least I would get to stay with you and that you wouldn't send me away."

Martha's chair scraped over the tile floor. "Clark ..."

"Mom, I know I'm being stupid." He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "But all my life, I've watched other kids with their grandparents and their parents. I've seen kids throw fits in the market, or fight with other kids, and their parents got mad, yeah, but there was never that panic in their eyes that was in yours if I just ... if I just got upset and started to cry uncontrollably. I know how scared you guys were when I had those nightmares, and how sometimes you hesitated before coming to me, because you were afraid I'd hurt you."

"Clark ..."

"And I know why. I was unpredictable and I could easily hurt you really badly. I get it. Intellectually. But it still hurts. And then, all these years, I thought that Granddad didn't want anything to do with me because I was adopted. And it hurt, because I never felt like anything other than a Kent. Than your son. The fact that I was adopted didn't matter to me, because I knew I belonged to you and Dad. Yeah, I thought about my parents, especially after you told me I was abandoned, but it was like, like the idea of someone else giving birth to me and you raising me wasn't a weird one. There wasn't anything wrong with it, and the fact that Granddad did think that .... I thought it was a reflection on me. So I've had mixed feeling about him all my life. I wanted to get to know him so badly and, at the same time, I felt so rejected by him." Clark swallowed and squeezed his truck in his hand. "And now I find out that the reason I didn't get to have a grandfather isn't because of his issues, but because of yours." He blinked up at her. "He's family, Mom. He loves you. He would have understood."

"Baby, I don't know if he would have." She leaned against the table, running her hands through his hair. "You're an alien, Clark; think how much trouble you've had getting used to the idea. It's not an easy thing to swallow, and even your father and I had our moments of not knowing what to do." She hesitated a moment. "A few weeks after we found you, you ran underneath our bed to hide. Your father crawled underneath to get you and you just lifted the whole thing over your head. The bed weighs a ton, and there you were, about five years old or so, holding the entire thing. I think that was the first time we really realized that you were more than just a little baby from a space ship. You were an alien, and we didn't know what that meant. We didn't think we could handle it, so we took you to a doctor in Metropolis. Not to get rid of you, exactly, but just for some help. A better understanding of what you were.

"But when we got there, I couldn't go through with it; I knew they would take you away from us and, well, try to figure you out." She smiled sheepishly. "I couldn't bear the thought of my baby growing up in a lab somewhere, so we took you home. And I realized that I couldn't trust anyone with you. At all. There were times I was sorry your father knew, I was so fiercely protective of you. That's the reason we kept you at home until fifth grade; that's the reason we didn't tell my father. It has nothing to do with you, Clark. I just ... I just have such a problem sharing you with anyone else. I don't want anything to happen to you." Her voice cracked and a tear slid out of her eye.

Clark rose and hugged her hard. "But sheltering me makes me feel like I'm not good enough. Or safe enough."

"Clark, you are. I know you are. You're the most careful young man I know. I know you would never hurt anyone, or lose control. But, God, Clark, Lionel took you away from me, and he doesn't even know what you are. Can you imagine what would happen if he did? If anyone else knew you were an alien?" She sniffed and pressed her face into his chest. "Look at Nixon. He was going to make you a headline, bringing down scientists and the military and God only knows who else."

"But Granddad is family."

Martha pulled back to look up into his face. "He is. He's my father, and he loves me. The problem is, I can't guarantee that he wouldn't have tried to get you taken away in order to protect me. I'm his baby, and he'd do anything to keep me safe just like I'd do anything to keep you safe. I trust you Clark. I always have. The panic you saw when you were little was because my baby was in pain and was going through something I couldn't stop and the only thing I could do was hold you, and it seemed so insignificant. I was willing to take whatever risk you posed to me without hesitation. My father wouldn't have seen it the same way. He would have had you taken away, and I couldn't let that happen." She wiped her eyes.

Clark frowned, heart sinking. "But I'm not ..."

"You're not a threat, no. I know that. Your father knows that. And Lex and Pete know it. Because they know you. They were both able to get to know the boy before they were introduced to the alien. My father wouldn't have been able to do that. He would have had to deal with both at once, and he wouldn't have been able to see the boy for the alien." Martha kissed his cheek. "So we had to protect you. However, now you can show him who you really are. If you want to get to know him, do it. Don't give up. Write him, call him, e-mail him, whatever. Let him get to know you and, when you're older, you can decide whether or not you want him to know your secret. But not now."

He sniffed and lay his head on top of hers. "What if he doesn't answer me? What if he doesn't care?"

Martha's arms tightened around him, and she rubbed his back gently. "Then know that it's his loss. He's the one who is choosing to ignore a wonderful young man. He is the one who doesn't deserve you, and not the other way around."

Clark squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "Thanks, Mom," he whispered, his throat feeling a little clogged. "I need to hear that."

________________________________________

To: csullivan@smallvillehs.edu  
From: racheldunlvy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Your Metropolis United Charities question Date: 29, August, 2002

I came across your query about Metropolis United Charities you made last spring. I used that agency to put my son up for adoption, and I've been searching for him. Have you found any information?

Rachel Dunleavy

To: racheldunlvy@hotmail.com  
From: csullivan@smallvillehs.edu  
Subject: Re: Your Metropolis United Charities question Date: 31, August 2002  
Dear Ms. Dunleavy,

I've found very little on the institution. All I know is that it was founded in October of 1989 and closed very soon thereafter. Since I was only researching adoption agencies, I don't know anything about any of the children placed through it. However, I think I recall seeing that only one child was placed by them, and I know that child cannot be your son. Perhaps you have the wrong agency.

Good luck in finding your son.

Chloe Sullivan

To: cssullivan@smallvillehs.edu  
From: racheldunlvy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Re: re: Your Metropolis United Charities question Date: 15, September, 2002

Thank you for the tip on looking at how many children were placed. You are right and only one child was placed. That must be my son, since I know it was through this agency. You say that you know the boy placed can't be my son. Do you have any information on him? Is his name Clark Kent, because that's the information I found. Do you know him? I only ask because you said you know he can't be my son, and I was wondering how you knew.

Please, please help me. I'm sure he's my child.

Rachel Dunleavy

To: racheldunlvy@hotmail.com  
From: csullivan@smallvillehs.edu  
Subject: Re: Re: Your Metropolis United Charities question Date: 20, September, 2002

Ms. Dunleavy,

Clark Kent is not your son. Did you name your child? I'm assuming you did, if you're looking for a sixteen year old, because if you didn't give him up until he was three, you would have had to call him something. I'm good at finding things; if you give me his name, maybe I can help you find your child.

Chloe Sullivan

To: racheldunlvy@hotmail.com  
From: csullivan@smallvillehs.edu  
Subject: But I've found my child Date: 30, September, 2002

I've found my child: he's called Clark Kent. I named him Lucas, but I guess his adoptive parents renamed him. I noticed that you're e-mailing from a Smallville high school account, so I did further checking and found out Smallville is also where Clark Kent lives. Do you know him?

Rachel Dunleavy.

To: racheldunlvy@hotmail.com  
From: csullivan@smallvillehs.edu  
Subject: Re: But I've found my child Date: 2, October, 2002

You need to change your line of investigation. There are two other charities in Metropolis with similar names: Metropolis United and United General. I think one of those handled your adoption.

My offer to help you find your real son still stands. If you won't take my help, then we have nothing further to discuss. Please stop e-mailing me and asking me questions about Clark Kent. He is not your child. You need to look elsewhere.

Chloe

________________________________________

"Clark, I'm your mother." The words were said almost reverently, as if Clark were a quest or something. The woman who said them was, well, frightening, to be honest. Her eyes were scary and expression rapt.

Clark's first thought was, "She's going to make me late for my test." It was closely followed by, "Oh, shit."

He cleared his throat and gave her a once over to make sure she wasn't, but some strange chance, Sheal. When he was sure she most definitely wasn't, he said, "I, uh ... I think you must be mistaken. You can't be my mother."

"No, there's no mistake. You're my son, Clark." When he didn't say anything, she put her hand on his arm, frowning when he flinched back. "Clark ... I suppose this comes as a shock. And you probably have a lot of questions, such as why I gave you up in the first place."

"My mother is dead!" He said it a little louder than he'd intended, but he'd been having dreams about his birth parents again every night since his grandfather had left. Clark's feelings for Sheal were so strong that the fact this ... this woman was trying to take her place made him feel a little sick.

She was shaking her head and reaching out of him again.

Clark pulled back, tucking his hands under his armpits.

She seemed to hesitate a moment, and then shrugged slightly. "My name is Rachel Dunleavy. The agency that handled my son's adoption was called Metropolis United Charities, and you, Clark, were the only adoption that they handled. Which means you are my son, Lucas."

"No."

Rachel nodded. "Yes. Darling, yes, it's true. I realize that you'll need time to get used to the idea, but it is true. I've been looking for you for so long, and I've finally found you." Putting one hand to her mouth, she reached out and touched him gently. She was shaking, tears in her eyes. "You are so beautiful."

Clark looked around the now empty hall, hoping that someone would come and help him. This was a closed campus now; how had she even gotten into the school?

Rachel pulled her hand away and reached into her purse. "I've purchased a home in Smallville, Clark, just for you. I'm not trying to take you away from your adopted parents, but I would like a place in your life. If you'll have me."

"Look, Mrs. Dunleavy, I'm sure you're nice and all, but you're not my mother. My mother died."

She shook her head, frowning. "No, she didn't. I'm your mother. I'm sorry, but you must have been lied to." She smiled. "Clark, I've done my research. I know from the bottom of my heart that you are my son. A mother always knows." She smiled softly and held out a card. "We've spent too many years apart, but I can wait a little longer for you to get used to the idea. This is my cell phone number. Give me a call, anytime."

After a long moment, Clark took the number. "I'm not your son."

Rachel smiled and shook her head. "You'll see, Clark. Call me soon." With a final sigh and lingering look, she turned and walked down the hall.

Feeling shaky and ill, Clark leaned his head against the lockers and closed his eyes. “ _Lex?_ ” he called.

After a moment, Lex's mind connected up with his. “ _Clark? Are you all right?_ ”

“ _No. This woman just stopped me at school and told me she was my mother. That she'd done all this research and found me._ ”

There was a long silence; Clark's stomach clenched and shifted as Lex's emotions roiled, going from confusion to fear and settling on anger.

 _”Did she tell you her name?_ ” he finally asked. His voice was expressionless and hard like it always got when he was upset about something.

“ _Yeah. It's Rachel Dunleavy._ ” He sighed. “ _I've got her number, too.”_

“ _Give it.”_

Clark read the card for Lex and then said, “ _I know she's not my mother, but she's so insistent. What are we going to do?_ ”

“ _You are going to calm down and go take your English exam. I'll try to find out some information on Ms. Dunleavy._ ”

 _”I don't think I'll be able to concentrate on ..._

"Mr. Kent!"

“ _Shit. Reynolds.”_ He pulled away from the locker and turned.

Reynolds was striding up to him, looking really pissed. "The bell rang ten minutes ago. What are you doing in the hall?"

Clark swallowed. "I ... I ..."

 _”Tell him the truth, Clark._ ” Lex broke into his fractured thoughts soothingly. _”Someone came onto his campus and accosted you.”_

"Well?" Reynolds prompted.

He licked his lips. "This woman came to my locker just now and told me she was my real mom." He held out the card, angry at himself because his hand was shaking.

Reynolds frowned. "Do you know her?"

"No, I've never seen her before. She said she just moved to town."

"No one signed into the office."

Clark shrugged. "But she was here. I swear, just a few minutes ago. Her name is Rachel Dunleavy. Call her number if you don't believe me."

"It's not that I don't believe you, it's just .... Well, I have rules for this campus, and I've had trouble with you before."

"When? I was late once!" Clark couldn't help saying.

Reynolds raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but since we've talked about your lack of extracurriculars, I haven't noticed you doing anything that would indicate that you were serious about changing your lack of activity."

Clark swallowed hard, feeling his anger build. "I've asked Chloe to give me more work on the Torch. I helped her all last year with layout and printing, so I'm going to start doing that again, and try to write sometimes. And I'm looking into other things too, but these past few weeks haven't been good for my family. We lost a lot of money and have been trying to increase our ..."

"Mr. Kent, I'm not interested in excuses."

 _”Don't say anything stupid.”_

He took a deep breath and forced himself to bite back the angry words that were building. "I'm not trying to excuse myself, but I've only had a week and a half, sir. I've been thinking of asking Mr. Townsend about starting a new club, but haven't had time. At the same time, this doesn't have anything to do with Rachel Dunleavy."

"What do you expect me to do about her?"

 _“She can't approach you like that. At least, I don't think.”_

"She came onto your campus without permission. She's harassed me. And ... and I think my parents should know about her as soon as possible. Can I, uh, can I call them?"

Reynolds hesitated before nodding. "Yes, I suppose I can allow that. But you'll use the phone in my office."

"Thank you." He followed Reynolds down the hall, relieved that he was being believed.

 _“Clark, I can't stay closely connected anymore, but keep open.”_

“ _I will. What are you going to do?”_

“ _Damien and I are going to start digging up stuff on this woman, and make sure your records are still in place._ ”

“ _Okay.”_ He pulled his mind back, keeping his shields down.

"Have a seat, Mr. Kent," Reynolds said, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.

Clark sat and pulled his truck from his pocket. Reynolds pushed the phone to him.

"I'll be back in a moment," he said. "I'm going to get your file."

"Yes, sir." Clark waited until Reynolds had stepped out of the room before picking up the phone. He quickly dialed home, hoping that his father was in the house somewhere.

No such luck. It rang through to the answering machine.

Frustrated, he waited for the beep. "Dad, it's me. Call the school as soon as you get this message. It's kind of important. Uh, 'kay, bye." He hung up, feeling stupid. But he didn't know what else to say; he couldn't leave a message like this on an answering machine, but he couldn't not make contact either.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the card with his mother's work number and dialed it.

"Hello, this is Martha Kent."

"Hey, Mom, it's me. Are you with Lionel right now?"

"Yes. Is something wrong?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, kind of."

"Wait just a second." He heard her say something to Lionel; he said something back and then Martha said, "Okay, honey, I'm walking to my office. What's going on?"

"Uh, okay. I'm a little freaked, but Lex is already on this, so it's probably not going to be that bad. Okay?"

"Okay." Her voice was wary.

Clark took a deep breath. "There was a woman at school today. Rachel Dunleavy. She showed up at my locker and told me she was my mother. And she's totally convinced she is, too, like even when I told her my mother was dead, she didn't believe me."

There was a beat of silence, and then, "Run that by me again."

"This woman came to me just a few minutes ago and told me that she was my birth mother. She's done research and everything and said that I have to be her son because her son was the only one who ever went into Metropolis United Charities."

This time, there was a longer silence, and then Clark heard his mother say something underneath her breath. Then she asked, "Did she seem sincere?"

"Uh, I guess. Why?"

"Just because I'm wondering if this is another one of Lionel's tricks. She could be an amazingly gifted actor that he hired to do this. The question is why?"

"I don't know." He chewed on his lower lip. "I'm kind of freaked."

"I don't blame you, Clark. But I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise."

He swallowed. "Yeah," he said softly, and not sounding or feeling very encouraged.

There was an awkward silence, and Clark could tell he'd hurt his mother in some way. It wasn't that he didn't believe she could protect him from this. It was just that Lex had a better chance of doing it, and Clark didn't even trust him all the way. He hated feeling like this, but it was like last spring all over again in some ways, and he was terrified of being taken away again.

"Clark, I'm going to go home and talk to your father. Stay at school until one of us, or Lex, comes to pick you up. We'll probably pick you up early, but I want to see Dad first."

"Yeah, okay."

"I love you, baby."

"Me too, Mom. Bye." He hung up slowly.

"What did your mother say?" Reynolds asked as he entered the room.

Clark looked up. "She's going to go talk to my dad, and then someone's going to pick me up." He licked his lip and looked at the file in Reynolds hand. Something stirred in the back of his mind.

He nodded. "Very well. Perhaps you should go back to class, then."

Clark sighed, the feeling that he was missing something growing stronger. "Yeah, I guess," he said. He gazed at the file folder in Reynolds hand, and then it clicked. "Can I see my file?"

Reynolds frowned. "Why?"

"Last spring I was taken away from my parents because of a mix up with my adoption record. They sent a woman out, uh, Michelle Hewitt, to take me to Metropolis. She's a social worker, and I was wondering if her number is maybe in the file. I could call her."

"Let me look." He opened the file and riffled through the pages a little. After a moment, he pulled out a piece of paper. "Michelle Hewitt, Social Services department of Metropolis. Here." He handed Clark the paper.

Clark dialed the number listed, holding his breath as he did. He had a feeling his mother would be even more hurt if she knew he was doing this, but he had to. He didn't exactly trust Social Services not to take him away again, although he had a feeling this was a different case than last spring. But, at the same time, he needed to something active to help protect himself. And, right now, that meant trying to find out if Rachel could take him away or if he was safe.

"Metropolis Social Services, this is Michelle Hewitt, how can I help you?"

"Uh, hi. Um, my name is Clark Kent. Last spring you handled my case when I was taken away from my family. You lost my file, and someone said I was a kidnapped kid named ..."

"Samuel Rivers, right?" Michelle finished for him.

"Yeah."

"I do remember you, Clark. You have one of those cases that stands out. What can I do for you today?"

He breathed a sigh of relief at being remembered. "Um, I need some advice. Or something. And I don't know who else to call."

"That's fine. I'm glad to help you with anything, Clark. Fire away."

"Okay, it's just, uh, a question," Clark said, eyes flicking to Reynolds. "Um, I was wondering, if someone were to go up to an adopted kid and say they were their birth mother. Is that okay? I mean, are they allowed to do that?"

"Um, Clark? Did someone approach you and say that?" Michelle asked, sounding a little hesitant.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I was at school, right? And this woman came up and told me that she was my birth mother."

"Do you know this woman?"

He shook her head. "No. I've never seen her before."

"Had she contacted your parents at any point prior to approaching you?"

"No. I just called my mom, and she doesn't know anything about it."

"Mary, get me Clark Kent's file, please," Michelle called, voice echo-y like her head was away from the receiver. "Clark, what this woman has done is inappropriate. Even if she is your birth mother, by law she cannot approach you without your parents' consent. You are still a minor, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then it is up to your legal guardians whether or not they want this woman to contact you. It is not up to her."  
Clark felt some of his fear dissipate. "So, uh, she's in trouble, right? I mean, not my parents."

"Yes, she is in trouble, no your parents are not."

"So you aren't going to take me away again."

There was a short pause, and when Michelle spoke again, her voice was soft and sympathetic. "Of course not. Last time we had to remove you from your parents because there was a chance your adoption wasn't legal and we couldn't verify your identity. We had to make sure that you didn't disappear. This is a completely different situation. Thank you, Mary." Clark heard papers being ruffled on the other end. "Is this woman trying to claim your adoption was illegal?"

Clark shook his head. "No. She said she gave me up, but she wants to get to know me."

"Anyone claiming to be your birth parents would have to contact your parents before approaching you. Your parents would determine whether or not she could meet you, not us. The only reason we might get involved is if she were to claim the adoption was fraudulent, she was unduly pressured to give you up, or if she could prove that she was mentally incapable of making the decision at the time. However, according to your records, your birth mother is dead, so she has no basis for her claims. In short, you have nothing to worry about, Clark."

He sighed softly and closed his eyes. He was still unhappy and uncomfortable about all of this, but at least he didn't have to worry about going back to Metropolis and sitting in that room, waiting for his fate to be decided by everyone else. Or, worse, to Lionel's mansion of horrors.

"Clark?" Michelle prompted. "What's going on, hon?"

"Nothing. I just .... I'm glad. I knew I should probably call you, but I was a little nervous."

She laughed slightly. "I understand, Clark. Your last experience with us wasn't exactly encouraging, but I am glad that you did call. What did your mother say she was going to do when you talked to her?"

"She's going to talk to my dad. She didn't say what she wants to do."

"When I get off the phone with you, I'm going to call your mother and recommend that she inform the local law enforcement of this woman's presence. What's her name?"

"Rachel Dunleavy."

"Okay. I'm going to call your parents and talk to them about the situation. Are they at home?"

"I think so."

"And your number is the same?"

"Yeah."

Her voice turned serious. "Clark, I don't want you to worry about this. Most likely, if your parents sit down and talk to this woman and explain to her that they knew your birth mother, and that she's dead, Ms. Dunleavy will go away. If not, then they should file a restraining order against her."

"Uh," Clark frowned and glanced up at Reynolds. "Uh, she said she bought a house in town so she can get to know me. I don't think she's just going to go away."

Michelle sighed. "All right, that's a little different. What is the basis of her claim, anyway? Why is she convinced that you are her son?"

"Uh, you know how I was the only child placed in a home by Metropolis United Charities? She said her son was placed through that agency, too."

There was a short silence, although Clark could hear computer keys clicking. "You were the only child. Huh. I'm going to look into this further, Clark. I'll call your parents and probably come down tomorrow if Ms. Dunleavy still insists on seeing you."

"Thank you."

"Of course. Now I want you to relax and let the grown-ups handle this. We'll take good care of you, Clark. I promise."

He smiled faintly, stomach aching and head beginning to hurt. "Thanks."

"Are you still at school?"

"Yes."

"Is your principal or someone else in charge available for me to speak to?"

"Yeah, hold on." He held the phone out to Reynolds. "She wants to talk to you."

Reynolds frowned and took the phone. "This is Principal Reynolds. .... Yes, I know. ... Yes, I see. Do you really think that's possible? .... Well, he is sixteen, and he does know what a stranger looks like. .... Uh, huh. Um, hmm. Yes, I see." He sighed. "Very well. Thank you." He hung up the phone. "Stay here." He left rather abruptly.

Clark sighed and rested his head on the desk. This was great, just what he needed. Was his life ever going to be normal?

The bell rang, releasing everyone for lunch. Clark wondered if he was going to be allowed to eat, or if he'd have to stay in the office until the end of school. He also wondered if you could get kicked out of school for being too much trouble to deal with. He was a tagged student who'd run away and had been taken away from his family once. Now there was a woman in town claiming to be his mother, which, of course, was interfering with school. And it wasn't just Rachel Dunleavy that was causing the problem; Clark was willing to be anything that Michelle had asked Mr. Reynolds to have a guard or something put on Clark so he wasn't kidnapped, hence the "he is sixteen and he does know what a stranger looks like" comment.

"Clark?"

He lifted his head. Mr. Townsend was standing just outside of the office. "Hey, Mr. Townsend." With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself back into a sitting position.

Mr. Townsend stepped into the office, looking concerned. "What's going on?"

Clark rubbed his eyes and explained what had happened. "I'm sorry I missed the test," he said when he was finished.

"That's not what I'm worried about right now, Clark. You can always make it up. How are you feeling?"

He shrugged. "I'm feeling like every time my life starts getting on track, someone comes and messes it all up," he said before he thought. Then he flushed with shame and looked away. "I shouldn't have said that," he said softly.

"Why not? It's fair. This woman is been horribly unfair to you in what she is doing. She gave you up ..."

"My birth mother is dead."

He blinked in surprise, looking a little surprised. "I see." Mr. Townsend put his hand on Clark's shoulder and squeezed. "Then this woman is putting you through this worry and stress for nothing. I would be resentful too."

Clark licked his lips, still looking away. "I feel like I'm supposed to be sorry for her. She's lost her son."

"She gave up her son."

"But she obviously still loves him if she's come looking for him. And she's in for a lot of heartache. Shouldn't I pity her or something?"

Mr. Townsend knelt in front of him. "No, not if you don't want to. You're upset and you have a right to be. You don't need to feel sorry for the person who is doing this to you."

Clark looked up and managed a weak smile. "Thanks. I'm sorry I'm being stupid."

He shook his head. "You're not."

"Mr. Townsend," Mr. Reynolds said, nodding as he walked into the room, closely followed by Mr. Font.

Clark groaned internally. He didn't want to get into this, didn't want to discuss his feelings or concerns with the school counselor. All he wanted was to be allowed to go to lunch or go home and to just be left alone.

"Hello, Clark, how are you?" Mr. Font asked.

He fought not to roll his eyes. "Oh, I'm just great, sir."

Mr. Font nodded slightly. "Mr. Reynolds was telling me a little about your problem. Do you want to come back to my office and talk about it for a while?"

"Do I have to?"

"You don't have to do anything, Clark. But you might feel better after talking this through a little."

Clark hitched a shoulder. "I'd rather just talk about it with my friends right now, if that's all right. Can I go to lunch?"

Mr. Font grimaced in a patently condescending way. "I'm sorry, Clark, but no. We're going to keep you close today, just in case someone tries to forcibly remove you from the campus. At least until your parents come to pick you up."

Clark had figured he was going to say something like that, but it didn't make it any less annoying. Once again, he wondered if he could be asked not to return to school if he caused too much trouble. He bet they were dying for his mom to come take him away, so they didn't have to guard him; if this became a regular occurrence, they wouldn't want him there at all.

"Does that mean I have to stay in here until my mom comes? What if she doesn't come for another two hours?"

"Then we'll advise your teachers that you can't leave class unless they receive a call from the office first. Or we'll have someone go get you from class. We just want to make sure there is an adult near you at all times while you are on this campus."

Clark sighed. "Oh. Okay."

Mr. Reynolds looked at him a long moment, before saying, "If you don't want to go with Mr. Font, I guess you can eat lunch in the teacher's lounge. But you'll need to stay quiet and conduct yourself in a responsible manner."

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, cheeks heating.

"Why don't I take him to get something to eat, and then he and I can eat in my classroom?" Mr. Townsend said quickly.

Reynolds raised an eyebrow. "Is that all right with you, Clark?"

He nodded gratefully. "Yeah, it is. Thanks." Grabbing his backpack, he rose and followed Mr. Townsend to the cafeteria. "Thank you."

Mr. Townsend smiled. "You looked like you wanted to get out of there."

"Yeah. I'm not real good talking about feelings and stuff to people. My counseling sessions are, like, torture because I keep having to come up with things and I always feel dumb."

"You shouldn't feel as if you have to make things up," Mr. Townsend said, but he didn't sound like he was judging Clark. "Counseling can be very beneficial, but you need to have the right fit to make it work. You might feel more comfortable with someone else; unfortunately, we're not a big enough school to have anyone else."

Clark shrugged. "I'm fine. I don't really feel like I need to go anymore, but they want me too. I don't know why; it's not like I'm going to run away again."

His teacher smiled at him. "I'm glad. Running away is never the optimal solution. It only makes matters worse in most cases."

Mr. Townsend bought Clark a teacher's lunch and then they went back to his classroom. Once there, they sat in silence, except for the music Mr. Townsend had put on when they'd entered.

Clark was nervous. Ever since Mr. Reynolds had made him write that essay, Clark had been considering Lex's suggestion to start a literary magazine. The truth was, it sounded like an interesting idea, except for the fact that people would read what he wrote. He liked writing. He'd been writing a lot lately, and spending time on refining the essays he wrote, finding new ways to word things, and then typing them up as final drafts. It was fun and interesting and even a little cathartic. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to share what he was writing with people, especially not his classmates.

At the same time, if he didn't start now, maybe he'd never be able to. High school, as Lex was constantly telling him, was a training ground for the world. Wouldn't it be better to make all his mistakes and things here, before he tried his hand at professional writing?

He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Something on your mind, Clark?" Mr. Townsend asked.

"Uh ... kind of. Yeah." He took a deep breath and reached into backpack. Part of his thinking about the literary magazine had involved talking to Lex about it, who then decided to teach Clark how to draw up a proposal. He'd been carrying it in his backpack the past few days, in its own folder, just in case he decided to do this thing. He held the folder out to his teacher. "Um, I was thinking about how I need to do some extracurricular things. Mr. Reynolds says I'm a slacker and I won't look good to colleges if I don't have anything extra on my college application. So, uh, I was thinking about stuff I could do. I can't play sports, and I'm really not interested in student government, even though I ran for president last semester. I, uh, I like to write, but not news and stuff. I write essays? About different things. So I was thinking that maybe, if other people were interested, I could start a literary magazine or something. Or maybe just a page in the Torch. That way if other people wanted a place to put poetry and short stories or essays or whatever, they could have a place."

Mr. Townsend took the proposal and read it carefully. "Did you do this yourself?"

"Yeah. Well, I had help."

"It's very well done. And I think it's a great idea."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Mr. Townsend nodded and smiled. "Yes, I do. I've tried to find ways to encourage creative endeavors, but no one has wanted to spearhead a project like this. You'll find there are a lot of students who have things to write, but not many who want to be in charge of it. This is a big project, Clark. Many schools only put out a magazine once or twice a semester because of the work. Are you prepared for the responsibility?"

"Uh, I think so. I mean, I would have help, right?"

"Of course. But, even with help, it's still a lot of work. You need to get the word out, decided on a theme for the first issue, find people who are willing to edit, to put it together, a reasonable deadline for all first, second, and final drafts to be put in. You'll also have to decide if you want a selection process or simply accept anything turned in. If you do want to be selective, then you'll have to make sure you are prepared to reject student work and deal with their reaction. And then, putting the final product together will be time consuming in itself and you'll have to work time around not only your schedule but everyone else's as well. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Clark frowned and looked down. He'd known it was going to be a lot of work, but when Mr. Townsend put it in terms like that, it sounded impossible.

Of course, he could save time on putting the final product together if he did it all himself and sped through it. And he was also sure that there were other people who would like to edit the work or make selections. It wouldn't be like he'd be doing everything alone.

While he was thinking, Clark realized that this wasn't something he was doing grudgingly, to have on his resume and to make Lex happy. He wanted to do this. Even if he didn't actually write anything--which he was planning to, but even if he didn't--it sounded like it could be, well, not fun, but satisfying. And ... and normal, which he still wanted to feel. He'd be busy, but who wasn't? Aaron was on his school's soccer team, and he was always complaining about how he hardly had time after school to do his homework because practice ran so long. And he wrote a column for the school newspaper, too, and was getting mostly B's. Clark knew his grades weren't going to suffer, and that it wasn't like he wasn't busy to begin with, but doing this would be a different kind of stress. One that wasn't life and death or as heavy as worrying about the farm and finances. He could do this. No, he wanted to do this.

He looked back up. "I do. I want to do this. How do I start?"

Mr. Townsend smiled. "I think you should advertise, first of all. Posters, flyers, maybe even an ad in the Torch. Let the students know that a new club is forming and that it's open to all students. You'll also need to have a meeting--two, actually, would be best. At the first one, you can explain what the club is and what you want to do. Maybe talk about the theme of the first issue, different jobs that people can take, and start a phone list. Then, at the second meeting, you can see who was really interested, and who just dropped by. That's when you really get down to work."

Clark nodded. "I could do that. Uh, you'll be my advisor, right?"

"Of course. I'll grab the paperwork today after school and have it ready to turn in by tomorrow. I know it will be approved, so I suggest that you start making your posters or whatnot now. What day do you want to have your first meeting?"

"Uh, next Thursday? During lunch?"

Mr. Townsend opened his organizer and wrote it down. "You can have the meeting in here."

"Thank you."

"Of course." He smiled. "I think this is a good idea, Clark. I'm looking forward to seeing what kind of work is produced."

Clark smiled. "Thanks."

He closed his organizer and sat back down. "You said you write essays. What kind?"

"Uh, just stuff. I was, uh, trying to write something about family and being adopted and stuff, but I can't get it right. I can't start it for some reason."

Mr. Townsend looked thoughtful. "Can I take a look at it?"

He flushed. "That's the problem; I don't have anything yet. I know what I want to write, sort of, but I can't get into it."

"Have you tried free writing?"

"Yeah. Well, sort of. I'll sit down and start writing what I'm thinking, but the thoughts don't transfer right and I'm stuck with ...." The phone rang, interrupting him.

"Hold that thought." Mr. Townsend rose and when to the phone. "Room 24. Okay, I'll bring him down." He hung up. "Your mother's here."

Clark sighed and zipped up his backpack. "Thanks for the lunch; it was better than what they usually give us," he said as he tossed his empty tray into the trash can.

Mr. Townsend laughed. "You're welcome. Now, about the problem you're having, since free writing isn't working for you, why don't you try something else? Like a list or a cluster or even free association?"

"What do you mean?" Clark asked as they walked down the hall.

"Take a word that's important to what you want to write, like 'adoption' or 'family.' And then write down anything that those words make you think about, and then what comes to mind when you write those words. It can help unlock your mind and allow the words to flow out."

He thought about it a moment, and then nodded. "Maybe I'll try it."

"And, if that doesn't work, you could try to put it into another form. Ever tried poetry?"

His cheeks warmed. "Just haiku."

Mr. Townsend smiled. "There's nothing wrong with a good haiku. I ... well, if you have any questions, come by tomorrow and we can talk. But don't worry about it right now; you have enough on your mind."

Clark nodded and glanced at his mother, who was standing just outside of the office. "Hey, Mom."

"Hi, Clark. And Mr. Townsend."

Mr. Townsend held out his hand. "Hello, Mrs. Kent. Clark told me what's going on. I hope things are straightened out soon."

She smiled. "Thank you. As do I." She took Clark's hand and squeezed it.

"Well, I should go set up for my next class. I'll see you tomorrow, Clark, and I'll have the paperwork ready, just like I promised."

"Thanks, Mr. Townsend. See you."

With a final smile, Mr. Townsend turned and walked away.

"Michelle called us," Martha said, putting her arm around Clark as they left the school. "We did as she advised and called Ethan. Rachel Dunleavy probably isn't going to do anything, but better safe than sorry." She squeezed Clark's arm. "How are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Okay. Better, now, actually. I'm sorry I called Michelle without telling you first."

She shook her head. "Don't be, it was a good idea. I don't know if I would have thought about it. Your father and I tend to not think about using the law to protect you, simply because of what you are. Most of the time, it's probably a good idea, but if Lex is right, and your papers look one hundred percent legal, than we're protected. And we could use the law on our side right now, even if it's just for advice." Martha licked her lips. "Clark, she isn't ..."

"No," Clark cut her off. "No, she's not my birth mother. Sheal was ... well, she would have called herself Sheal, for one. But Rachel looks nothing like her." He shrugged and kissed his mother on the forehead. "I'm not going anywhere, right?"

She tightened her grip on him and shook her head. "No, Clark. You aren't going anywhere. I promise."

________________________________________

The evening had been unfruitful at best. The Kents had called Rachel Dunleavy and met her at the Talon around seven. Lex had stayed home with Clark, watching reruns on television and drinking all the orange juice in the house. When the Kents had returned, they'd only had bad news: despite the fact they'd taken a picture of Clarks supposed "birth mother," complete with Clark in the picture (courtesy of Damien and Photoshop), Ms. Dunleavy had still insisted that Clark was really her child.

They'd spent the rest of the night talking about what they were going to do now. Lex had asked them how they'd found Metropolis United Charities in the first place and, after a moment's hesitation, Martha had admitted that a friend of her father's had set it up for the sole purpose of adopting Clark.

"He even helped with Clark's birth certificate and records," she'd said. "Not much, but just enough for them to pass inspection. After the adoption, he kept it open a few more months, just for show, and then shut it down."

"Did anyone else ever express interest in it?" Lex had asked.

The Kents exchanged glances and shrugged. "We weren't told," Martha had finally answered.

"Your father did, I think, look into it," Jonathan had added. "He'd threatened to take away Clark if I didn't do something for him, saying he knew the child wasn't ours and he could get any adoption undone if necessary." He'd shrugged. "Nothing ever came of it, though."

That had given Lex a moment's pause. "How did he know about Clark?"

The Kents looked at each other again and then, reluctantly, it seemed to Lex, told him and Clark what had happened the day of the meteor shower, starting with the trip to Nell's flower shop. When they got to the part about finding Lionel on the road, and then Jonathan seeing Lex lying unconscious in the field, Clark slipped behind him and held him tight. He didn't try to pretend he didn't need it.

When they were done, Lex leaned his head on Clark's shoulder and sighed. "At least now we know how you found me," he'd said.

Clark'd smiled at him and kissed the palm of his hand. "I'd have found you anyway."

He'd returned the smile and allowed Clark to hold him tighter. The conversation had moved from the meteor shower back to Rachel. They'd discussed various options and ways to proceed for about an hour more. After running in circles and coming to no conclusions, Jonathan had finally called it a night, needing to head up for bed. Since Clark had homework to do, Lex had left too, intending to go home and continue working on the problem. What he actually did was drive around for almost an hour, allowing his mind to wander and body to unclench. He even chose relaxing music for a change, instead of the metal he normally favored. All in all, it was a nice drive and when he returned home, he was calm, headache free, and ready to dig into Rachel Dunleavy's life.

Damien was working in Lex's office when he got there. "You working on Rachel Dunleavy?" Lex asked by way of greeting. He went to the bar and poured a glass of Scotch for both him and Damien.

"Yes, as I have been all afternoon. It's not been easy going."

"Have you found anything?" Lex handed Damien the glass, but he simply set it aside and picked up a file folder.

"Not much." He handed Lex the file and rolled away from the desk. "She was in a mental institution for at least seven years. She suffers from depression, paranoia, manic episodes in which she is a danger to both herself and others, and delusions. Payment for all medical expenses comes from a bank account from one of the larger institutions; the account was opened in California. All other costs are paid for by an account in Gotham. I've not yet traced the money used to buy the house." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Anything before she first entered the institution has been masked. I haven't been able to uncover the trail yet."

"We have time. Clark called the social worker woman who dealt with him last time. It sounds like she's going to fight this woman's claims and get a restraining order placed on her. She's coming down tomorrow."

"Ah, of course. I hadn't thought to do that." Damien frowned and rubbed his forehead, coughing as he did. The cough sounded deep and phlegm-y. Dangerous.

Lex sat up, alert. "Are you all right?"

Damien coughed again; when he didn't stop right away, Lex rose and got him a glass of water. "No," he gasped when the water was gone, his voice rough. "I am not. I've been progressively feeling worse as the day has gone on. My head aches, my throat hurts, I'm sore and tired, and I'm having some trouble concentrating."

"Then why the fuck are you working?" He had to fight to keep the anger from his voice. But, for Christ's sake, this was Damien and Damien was supposed to know better than to work while he was sick. Especially so soon after being in the hospital for a respiratory illness.

He smiled wanly. "I'm fine, sir. I've only been in here for most of the day, doing sedentary work." When Lex continued to frown at him, he added, "I'm going to the doctor first thing in the morning."

"You should have slept today; you're exhausted. I could have worked on this." Lex sighed, feeling a stirring of panic in the back of his throat. Damien was sick; Lex could count the number of times he'd gotten sick before the accident on two fingers. But then, it hadn't been dangerous. Now it was. His lungs had been damaged, and he was on medication, and there was still a slight danger of blood clots and ... "Go to bed," he ordered sharply. "If you start feeling worse, tell me and we'll get you to the hospital."

Damien looked amused. "This is a switch."

"Yeah, I see the irony. Go to bed."

"Yes, sir. I will." He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. "Truth is, the name Rachel Dunleavy rings some sort of bell for me. I've heard it before and I don't know where or why." He coughed. "I am very sorry, sir; if I were up to snuff ..."

"You're not a super hero, Damien. You seem like one most of the time, but you're not. Don't worry about it; it'll come to you eventually."

He nodded. "Of course, sir. Goodnight."

"Night." Lex watched as Damien rolled out and then sighed. This was great. Absolutely perfect. Someone was out to get Clark, Damien was sick, and Lex had to handle everything on his own.

"Fuck!" he swore. He picked up a small statue from his desk and threw it against the wall. It bounced off, breaking in half. He didn't feel any better. "God fucking damn it!"

He paced a few moments, feeling fury rise in his chest. This wasn't fair; when the hell were he and Clark going to get a break? There was always something to make their lives a living hell, and now Lex was going to lose his assistant and it wasn't fair.

He inhaled harshly, feeling it rake down his chest. It had been awhile since he'd had an asthma attack. He wasn't exactly having one now, but it hurt to breathe, and his head pounded, and he was feeling sick to his stomach.

"Lex, you need to calm down," Clark said softly behind him.

Lex swallowed and closed his eyes. He hadn't heard or felt Clark come in. "Damien is sick," he whispered.

"He was hurt badly; complications were expected."

"I know, but ..."

Strong arms wrapped around him from the back, and Clark kissed the nape of his neck tenderly. "My dad always says not to borrow trouble. Don't go looking for it. Rachel thinks I'm her son, but we know I'm not. We have the law on our side, and we're going to be fine. Damien isn't feeling well, but that doesn't mean he's going to die. It just means he's sick. Don't make it more than it is until we know what's wrong."

Lex nodded and leaned against Clark. "I know. I know, I'm just ..."

"Worried. I am, too. But don't make yourself sick over it. That's just stupid."

He laughed helplessly. "It is. I'm being stupid."

"First step is admitting it."

Lex laid his head on Clark's shoulder and looked up at him. "What's the second step?"

Clark smiled. "Going to bed and leaving this until morning."

"Can you stay?"

"No. I was just out for a run when I felt you freaking out. So I came to tuck you in."

"Okay. But do me a favor first?"

"What?"

Lex closed his eyes and leaned against Clark. "Just stay here a little bit and make the world stop turning."

Clark's arms tightened. "Yeah," he whispered, kissing Lex's ear gently. "I can do that."

________________________________________

Sleep had been a nightmare. Not literally, although his dreams hadn't been exactly relaxing. He'd tossed and turned for hours before managing to drift off into a doze, where he dreamed of Rachel Dunleavy, Sheal, and his mother all fighting over him while Damien lay dying in the corner. He'd finally given up on the idea of sleep and, instead, powered up his computer to made a flyer about the literary magazine. After playing around with fonts and colors, as well as looking for examples of other school's magazines online, he'd saved a copy to disk with the intent of taking it to school to print out.

His chores were finished quickly that morning, breakfast inhaled and, after hugs and admonishments not to worry about Rachel Dunleavy while keeping an eye out for her or any stranger, Clark had run to school, beating even Chloe.

He'd worked about fifteen more minutes on the flyer before printing it out, then decided to go online for a while and check his e-mail. When he powered up the web browser, though, it signed directly into Chloe's e-mail account. She had over fifty new messages, many from different on-line newspapers, a few mailing lists, and some personal e-mails. There was one from Sydney, which Clark was glad to see; Chloe had told him that she and Sydney hadn't talked much since they'd gone to the club, and the stress was making Chloe more emotional. He hoped they could work out their problems, and come to something they could both be happy with; he hated seeing Chloe so unhappy.

And then, Clark saw a bunch of read messages from racheldunlvy.

Abruptly, he went cold. Completely, even though he could feel a sheen of sweat break out on his forehead, which was weird, since it had been awhile since he'd broken into a sweat. But there it was. His heart was pounding, and his limbs trembled. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Why? Why was her name here? In Chloe's e-mail, why?

In managed to take a deep breath and clicked on the first e-mail. And the next. There were only three, but in each letter, Rachel sounded more and more desperate. And more and more like a woman who wouldn't change her mind once she was fixated on something.

"Sure, Clark, you can use my computer. Knock yourself out," Chloe said, walking into the office.

Clark looked up, chest tight. "You've been getting e-mails from Rachel Dunleavy," he said heavily.

Chloe frowned, her mouth opening. After a few seconds, she said, "You've been reading my e-mail?"

"It signed in itself. I wasn't going to read anything, but Rachel Dunleavy's name jumped out at me."

"Yeah, I corresponded with her a few times. Is something wrong? I mean, do you know her or something?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I do. Did you notice how I disappeared after school yesterday? Well, it's because Rachel Dunleavy showed up at my locker and told me she was my mother."

Chloe's face went white and she swayed on her feet. "Oh my God," she whispered. She managed to find a chair and sink into it. "Oh, God, Clark, I'm so sorry. I told her not to look here. I told her that you weren't her son, I swear."

"How did she know to e-mail you? She was answering something that you put out on the web. What did you do?" he demanded.

She took a couple of shuddering breaths before answering. "Last spring when they took you away, I wanted to do something to help. I poked around a little and found out about the agency who did your adoption. Then I put a query out on a few adoption boards, trying to see if anyone knew anything about the agency. To help you, Clark, I swear. I didn't get any replies, and you came back, so I stopped checking. And then, a few months ago, Rachel Dunleavy contacted me."

Clark closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. His heart was pounding. "How could you do this to me, Chloe? That woman is in town now, and she says she's my mother. God. I don't need this."

"Clark, I'm sorry." Her voice was trembling. "I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen. But when you were taken away, I was so scared." She put her hand on Clark's. "I thought maybe I could find your parents. I knew you weren't Samuel Rivers, and that you weren't kidnapped, and I thought that maybe if I could get your real mother to step forward and tell them who you were, everything would go away. And then you might get to know your real mother, too. That's all. When you came back ..."

He opened his eyes. "My parents are dead, Chloe."

"I didn't know that!" she exclaimed, tears flooding down her cheeks. "I didn't know that then. You told me you were abandoned!"

Clark blinked and frowned. "What?

She swiped at her face. "You told me that. Don't you remember? During the summer between sixth and seventh grade, we had a sleep over. You, me, and Pete. We were up late, high on sugar, and I asked you what happened to your parents. You told me they left you in a cornfield. That's the only story I've heard, ever, until you were taken away. Then, you come back, and all the sudden, your birth mother was friends with your mother and she died." She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking as she cried harder.

Clark groaned and rested his head on the table. He did remember. And not just telling Chloe. He'd told Pete, too. The day after his parents had told Clark he'd been abandoned, he'd told Pete. When his parents found out, they asked him never to tell anyone again, and he'd kept that promise until the night he'd told Chloe. And he'd told her because ... because he'd needed to.

The week of that sleepover, everything had seemed to go wrong. He'd gotten into a fight with Greg Arkin and Pete had played with Greg anyway. And then everyone Clark knew started swimming at Crater Lake, and he couldn't. Even the town pool had been making him sick that week. And when Chloe had asked, telling her had seemed like a good way to get back at the world. It was a deep, terrible secret, so he'd decided to it to Chloe to show everyone that he didn't care. He'd been glad he was abandoned because his parents were the best parents he could have.

He groaned softly, realizing how stupid he'd been. And how stupid his parents had been. They should have told him the truth. This never would have happened if his parents had just told him the truth in the first place.

Clark raised his head. "I'm sorry I lied to you, Chloe," he said in a subdued voice. "I should have told you the truth."

She laughed slightly, tears continuing to fall from her eyes. "It's okay, Clark, I understand. You couldn't tell .... I mean, having your mother die isn't the same as being abandoned. There's something romantic in that, I get it. Even if you don't want your real parents to find you ..."

"They are _not_ my _real_ parents," Clark cut her off tersely. "They are my _birth_ parents. Mom and Dad are my _real_ parents."

"Right. Sorry. Even if you don't want your birth parents to find you, there's something incredibly romantic sounding to being abandoned. You could be anybody: a prince, the son of a rich and famous actress, the son of a foreign millionaire. I get it." She wiped her eyes. "When you told me you'd been abandoned, that's when I first started falling in love with you, you know." Chloe laughed in a self-deprecating way, wiping her eyes. "You know, because of Mom. She l-left me, too. I w-wasn't good enough for her, and I just .... I felt like I'd found someone who'd understand me. Who'd been there. I pictured us, two cast offs, growing up and getting married and having a ton of kids we would never let out of our sight."

He smiled at her, feeling his cheeks heat a little. It was hard to remember sometimes that Chloe had had a crush on him before, their relationship had changed so much. They were closer than before he'd gotten together with Lex, and he liked it. He depended on her.

Clark reached out and took her hand. Squeezing it, he said, "I think they'd get pretty sick of us after a while."

She managed a laugh. "Yeah. I love Dad more than anything, but sometimes, I wish he'd give me more space." Chloe licked her lips, clinging tightly to Clark's hand. "This woman, Rachel, she can't do anything, right?"

He shrugged. "She can make my life hell. She can make my parents worry. She can make Lex freak out and me feel like my world is being taken away."

"But she can't take you away, right? I mean, she's not your mother. She has no claim."

"No, she doesn't. But she doesn't seem very rational, either. Everyone is afraid she's going to try and kidnap me, although I wouldn't let that happen." He rubbed his eyes. "The problem is, she's so sure, and when she looked at me, it was like I was the answer to her prayers. Yesterday, I was just so angry, all I could think about was me, but now, I can't help feeling sorry for her. Sorry for the heartbreak she's going to feel when she finally accepts that I'm not her son."

Chloe started crying harder. "And it's all my fault."

Clark sighed and moved closer to her, pulling her into his arms. "No, it's not. She might have found me anyway. Lex said that she was recently released from a mental institution, and was probably going to start looking anyway. All you did was put the query out; you didn't give her any information."

"But I still ..."

"Chloe, stop," he said firmly. "Please, I can't have my life in chaos and have you falling apart at the same time."

She pulled away. "I'm sorry. But I meant well. I wanted to help you so badly, but you don't need me, do you?"

"Of course I do. You're my best friend, Chloe. I don't know what I'd do without you. But sometimes I think that you need to think about what consequences your actions are going to take, even where I'm concerned. Especially where I'm concerned." He swallowed, heart pounding. He wasn't going to tell her--he couldn't risk it--but maybe he could skirt the edge, just a little. "Chloe, I ... I have to be really careful. I can't ... I can't have a lot of attention drawn to me, because ..."

"Because of your relationship with Lex, I know," she interrupted quickly, flushed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"I know. Just ..." The first bell rang, interrupting him.

"I have to go wash up," Chloe said breathlessly. She grabbed her backpack and fled.

Clark watched her go, frowning. She'd been so distracted lately, because of the whole thing with Sydney and Lana, but that was ... weird. Almost like she'd been afraid to hear what he was going to say.

He wondered what she was so afraid of, unless she thought he was going to get angrier at her. The truth was, while he was a little stung that she'd go into his private life behind his back, he understood she had only been trying to help. It was just, sometimes she forgot that she was only sixteen and her resources, while diverse, were still somewhat limited. She could ask the questions and probe, but she didn't exactly have the money or experience to protect herself or her friends if things got hairy.

She was like Lex, only without the money. Both were ambitious, relentless, well-meaning, but, at the same time, often thoughtless. Or, rather, they didn't always consider the consequences of their actions.

Clark sighed and grabbed his backpack. There was nothing he could do right now, anyway. He'd go to class, do his work, and hope things worked out in the end.

________________________________________

The warning bell had rung, and Lana was running late. Nell had been bitchy all morning, slamming doors and walking around in a huff. Then Lana had missed the bus and when she'd asked for a ride, Nell had made a big deal about how inconvenient it was for her, and how now the flower shop was going to open late, and she was going to lose money and on and on until Lana had interrupted and said just drive her to town, and she'd walk the rest of the way.

Even with Nell waiting until the last possible second to leave, stopping at the Talon for coffee, and a half-mile walk, Lana managed to make it to school one minute before the warning bell rang.

She'd been hoping to have time to talk to Chloe before class, but maybe it was better that she didn't. After all, the only thing that was taking up her mind at the moment was what to do about Henry Small, and Lana had the feeling Chloe wasn't exactly interested. Well, maybe she would be, but since Lana was trying to be more interested in other people, and right now she was preoccupied, it was better if she just went to class, got into the routine of the day, and then saw Chloe.

And then, Chloe rushed past her in the hall, face red and wet with tears.

"Chloe? Chloe!" Lana called.

Chloe didn't answer. She continued to run down the hall, weaving around the waning morning crowd, intent on her destination.

Frowning, Lana followed her, hoping that nothing was too, too wrong.

Chloe entered the girl's bathroom. Three girls came out after she did. The looked at Lana like they were a little embarrassed, and glanced behind them. Then they quickly left.

Lana stepped inside the bathroom. Chloe was at the sink, splashing water on her face and crying. "Chloe? Are you all right?"

"Go to class, Lana," Chloe said in a muffled sobbing voice.

Lana went to the paper towel dispenser and turned the crank. "What's wrong?"

Chloe laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "What isn't? I'm getting a C in French, my girlfriend won't talk to me, I don't know what to do with you, Lex is going to kill me and, oh yeah, I fucked up royally with Clark."

"What happened?" she asked as she got Chloe a paper towel.

"Nothing." She accepted the towel and wiped off her face. Then she sighed heavily. "I thought I was helping him with something, and it turns out I .... God, I screwed up so much."

Lana frowned and leaned against the sink. She had to cross her arms over her chest to keep from pulling Chloe into her arms. But that would just confuse the situation more, she supposed, and that was the last thing Lana wanted to do. She wanted Chloe to feel safe and comfortable with her, not to view Lana as just another distraction or problem. So, she'd stand here, keep her hands to herself, and try to support Chloe the best she could. If she could.

Lana cleared her throat. "What did you do? Or do you not want to talk about it?"

Chloe shook her head. "I can't. I'm sorry, but part of the problem is me invading his privacy. I couldn't do any more, you know?"

She nodded. "I understand." Lana hesitated a moment, and then said, "So, I guess you and Clark got into a fight."

"Not exactly." She sighed and tossed the towel away. "He's not mad. He was upset, but I guess he got what I did. But that's not the point. I mean, yeah, I'd hate for Clark to be mad at me, but the fact that I ... put him in such danger, I .... Oh, God, Lex is going to kill me."

"Why?"

"Because of what I did." She sighed and wiped some fresh tears that sprang to her eyes.

Tentatively, Lana moved closer to her and put her hand on Chloe's shoulder. Stroking it gently, she said, "I'm sorry. But I'm sure it's going to be okay. I mean, Lex aside, if Clark forgives you ..."

"You don't get it, Lana!" Chloe interrupted. "I put Clark in danger. Me. By my stupidity in thinking that I was enough to protect him, I did something that actually brought more attention to him."

"Does this have to do with Rachel Dunleavy?"

She looked startled. "What do you know about her?" Chloe demanded.

Lana blinked at the fierceness in Chloe's tone and answered slowly, "I overheard her talking to the Kents last night. She said she was Clark's mother. After the Kents left, she asked me if I knew him, and told me how important it was that she get to know him."

Chloe laughed bitterly. "Yeah, it has something to do with her."

"How could that be your fault?"

"I put a notice on an adoption website--a few of them, actually--asking if anyone knew anything about the agency used in Clark's adoption. Rachel contacted me about her son and from that, she found Clark."

Lana sighed. "But you didn't put him in danger. I mean, it's inconvenient and scary for Clark, but ..."

"Lana ..." Chloe started, but she broke off, shaking her head. "You're probably right," she said after a moment. "I'm probably blowing this out of proportion. I'm just in a really weird place right now."

Lana stepped back from Chloe and averted her eyes. "Sydney's not talking to you?"

Chloe sighed, tears rising to her eyes again. "Not really. We do sometimes, but it's not the same as before."

"I'm sorry," Lana said softly.

Chloe put her hand underneath Lana's chin and turned her head. "It's not your fault."

Lana gazed into Chloe's eyes, feeling her stomach tighten. Heat rose to her cheeks as their eyes continued to lock on each other, so close that she could feel Chloe's breath hit her neck.

After a moment, Chloe's cheeks flooded red. She looked away. Lana was about to pull away and suggest they get to class when, unexpectedly, Chloe turned back. She leaned into Lana quickly, and brushed their lips together. Then Chloe pulled away and turned around.

"We should probably get to class," she said, voice sounding strange.

"Yeah, okay," Lana replied breathlessly. She picked up her backpack.

"Uh, thanks, Lana. For, you know. Listening."

Lana fought back a smile of pleasure as she answered, "Of course, Chloe. That's what friends are for."

Chloe glanced at her quickly and smiled. Then she left the bathroom.

Lana followed more slowly, unable to stop the huge grin from spreading over her face. Today was shaping up to be a good day.

________________________________________

Dominic stepped quietly into Damien's room and shut the door behind him. Even though it was nearly ten-thirty in the morning, the room was bathed in darkness and the air held an early morning feel. It was, Dominic supposed, one benefit of living in a castle. They were fairly dark and cool and you could sleep almost all day without noticing the sun.

Damien was sound asleep, lying on his back. Dominic winced on seeing him; he looked terrible. His breathing was uneven and sounded congested, he was pale, and his nose was crusted.

He sighed and closed his eyes. It wouldn't be wise to wake Damien up and look panicked. Especially since Damien was sick. That might seem the most opportune moment to panic, but Damien didn't need to have to deal with Dominic right now. Dominic had to be strong for him.

Feeling more settled, he opened his eyes and crossed the room.

"Good morning," Dominic said softly, kissing Damien on the forehead.

Damien groaned softly and opened his eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked, sounding groggy.

He smiled and combed his fingers through Damien's hair. "Lionel needed a few things from the main office, so I flew out to deliver them. I'm going to go to your doctor's appointment with you if that's all right."

As expected, Damien grimaced and shook his head. "You have work."

"I've nothing pressing. Nothing that no one else can take care of. And I'll have my phone, in case there is an emergency."

Coughing, Damien sat up. Dominic quickly got him a glass of water and helped him drink it. "There is no need for you to come," he said when he could speak again. "We don't live together anymore; you don't need to take care of me."

It hurt, but Dominic knew that what Damien said didn't matter. He would push Dominic away until he realized that Dominic was going to do whatever he damn well pleased. Only then would he give up. He would do so gracefully, of course, but conceded defeat all the same.

Besides, Dominic knew how much it pained Damien to be sick. He was a model patient to everyone except Dominic, and he took heart in that, hoping he was abused and berated because Damien loved him.

"No, we don't live together. However, that doesn't mean I don't care for you, or care about your wellbeing. I'm worried, Damien, and I know you are too. I think it would be better for our peace of minds if I go." He pushed hair back from Damien's sweaty forehead. "Please."

Damien gazed at him through red eyes a moment longer, looking exhausted and diminished, before finally sighing and closing his eyes. "Very well." He rubbed his chest, pressing his hand into his heart.

"I'll go get your clothes." Dominic started to pull away from the bed, but Damien reached out and took hold of his hand. Eyes still closed, he brought it to his lips and kissed the inside of Dominic's wrist before releasing him.

Dominic smiled and bent over to kiss him again. Then he rose and set about his task.

________________________________________

When the guard contacted Lex to inform him that Rachel Dunleavy was at the gate, he was surprised. Not that was the infamous woman who was disrupting his lover's life was coming to see him, since she'd sent him a note informing him of the fact that morning, but because the guard actually did his fucking job. For once.

It was almost enough to give him a raise, except all the guards made too much as it was for never doing their damn job right.

He stood behind his desk as he heard the housekeeper approaching the office. A moment later, the door opened, and Rachel was announced.

"Ms. Dunleavy," he said politely, stepping out from the desk. "Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No, thank you, Mr. Luthor."

"Call me Lex."

"Lex." She sat in the chair and folded her hands primly until Lex had taken his seat once more. "Thank you so much for seeing me today."

"Of course. Your note just mentioned you wanted to talk to me about Clark Kent."

"Yes. You see, I'm his real mother. I gave him up for adoption when he was very young, and now I want a place in his life. I've been searching for him for so long, and I've finally found him."

He swallowed and forced himself not to say anything stupid. Any contradiction would only serve to make her angry, and he didn't want that. Angry people did stupid, rash things, and, knowing her history in mental institutions made him even more wary. An angry person might do something stupid, but still tended to be predictable; an angry psychotic person was anything but.

"I see," Lex said slowly. "But I don't see what this has to do with me." He said it as apologetically as possible.

She smiled as if understanding his confusion. "Well, I understand that you and Clark are good friends. His parents are insisting that I'm not his mother and have refused to let him see me. I was hoping you would talk to Clark and ask him to give me a chance."

Lex's chest closed in anger. He forced himself to smile at her as if embarrassed as he reached for his water glass. After a few sips, he set it back down and smiled again. "Ms. Dunleavy," he said, voice even, warm, and a bit regretful, "I'm sorry, but surely you must see I can't go against the wishes of his parents. I am close to Clark, but I am also good friends with both Mr. and Mrs. Kent. Beyond that, it's just not appropriate for me to get involved."

Her face darkened. "Even if it meant giving him a chance to know his real mother?"

A muscle in Lex's jaw twitched, but he only shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Rachel sat back and looked at her hands. There was a long moment of silence as a myriad of emotions crossed over her face. Lex wondered what she was thinking, but didn't press, still hoping that he'd be able to convince her to leave Clark alone.

Then she looked up. Her eyes were bright and cheeks pink. "I wasn't going to bring this up unless I had to," she said hesitantly. "But I once worked as a nurse for your mother."

Every muscle in Lex's body tightened. He felt his face go completely blank and body still. His throat closed up slightly, and he had to force himself to breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling in a cadence. "You knew my mother?" he said when he was absolutely certain his voice was steady.

She nodded, smiling in that eerie way of hers. "And your father. He and I became very close."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. God damn, no. Lex didn't believe it. Dad wouldn't .... He couldn't .... Not with this woman. A nurse? An insane, unbalanced, nobody nurse?

Once again, he had to remind himself to breathe. It raked down his chest, almost making him cough, but he managed to get the air in. Three breaths later, and his chest began to expand more fully, allowing his body to relax.

Rachel didn't seem to notice his struggle to stay calm and collected. Instead, she continued on as if this was something he really wanted to know about his father. "He got me pregnant," she said, looking almost proud. "And made me give up the child for adoption."

He felt sick. He was going to throw up. All over his new carpet. Why the hell had he eaten breakfast? Whose stupid idea was that? Damien was at the doctor, he was meeting Rachel Dunleavy, and he decided breakfast was a good idea? He'd drunk four glasses of orange juice, for Christ's sake; that stuff hurt like a mother fucker coming up.

Lex pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if he was going to get a headache. He could feel one standing in the wings, dying to emerge, but he really could not afford it today. Not only did he have to keep thinking smart, but he also had to think crazy and insane. He couldn't do that with a headache.

When his stomach finally settled, he looked up at Rachel. She smiled softly and nodded, looking as if she were offering him a wonderful treasure instead of a bastard brother.

Oh, God, if Dad found out what she was claiming, he'd jump all over it. He'd back up her claims, get the DNA to prove it, and then take Clark away. Or, at least he'd try. Maybe. Or ...

Maybe she was confused. Maybe she wasn't talking about Clark, but about some other kid.

He cleared his throat. "You're claiming that Clark .... That Clark and I ..." Last year he'd told Clark that he was the little brother Lex had never had; it'd been a joke then, a euphemism, really, but now, it was too sick to even said. He'd had his fist up Clark's ass, for God's sake.

"He's your brother, Lex."

He swallowed, finished his water, and then poured himself another glass. He wanted to wring her neck, but had a feeling that neither Clark nor Damien would approve. As it was, he was angry enough at himself that he was so fidgety. He got this way around his father, yes, but he was usually good when dealing with strangers. But this woman was hitting every single nerve.

"Ms. Dunleavy," he said when he glass was empty, "I'm sorry, but you have the wrong boy."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. Clark's birth mother was ..."

"A friend of Mrs. Kent's, I know the story they've made up for him," she interrupted impatiently. "And, I suppose if it made him feel better when he was a child, it was fine. But it was a lie."

Lex rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ms. Dunleavy, but I'm not going to help you get near to Clark. You are not his mother. My father is not his father. I have no doubt that you are telling the truth about your relationship with Dad, but Clark has nothing to do with it. Leave him out of your search, please."

She stood up, her eyes full of tears, and trembling. "One child was placed by Metropolis United Charities. One child went in: my Lucas. Lionel forced me to give him up, and now all I want is a place in his life."

"Then let me help ..."

"You've made it quite clear that you will not help me. Thank you for your time and good-bye." With those words, she turned dramatically away and flounced from the room.

"Damn it!" he swore, backhanding the pitcher and glasses to the floor. He was about to throw a paperweight when the phone rang.

Grinding his teeth, he dropped paperweight to the table and picked up the phone. "Lex Luthor."

"Don't panic," was Dominic's first words. They might have been more effective had he not sounded hysterical.

Lex groaned, his head falling to his desk. "What's wrong?"

Dominic took a noisy breath. "They've admitted Damien to the hospital. He was having chest pains all morning in addition to the problems he was having yesterday. They're going to monitor his medication for a few days, keep an eye on him. That sort of thing. He's ... he's ..."

"Calm down, Dominic."

"His heart ... What if he can't ..."

It occurred to Lex that Dominic had had a heart attack earlier that year. It had been poisoned induced, but a heart attack, no matter what the cause, was never a good thing. He, most likely, did not need this kind of stress.

"Dominic, breathe."

"Lex, Damien ..." Abruptly, Dominic's voice cut off.

For a moment, Lex was afraid that something that happened when Dr. Sutton's voice came over the phone. "Lex?"

Lex rubbed his eyes. "Is Dom okay?"

"He's fine. He's breathing right now so he can calm down."

"Good. How's Damien?"

"It's hard to say at this moment. He's stable, just uncomfortable and in some pain. It looks like he simply has a respiratory infection, which explains the trouble breathing, but his doctor isn't sure why he has chest pains. They're doing tests now."

"Any guesses?"

She sighed. "It could be anything: medication complications, heart attack, irregular heartbeat. We really aren't sure right now."

He sighed and nodded. "Okay. I probably won't be able to drop by today. I'm in the middle of a crisis, and apparently, it all just fell in my lap."

"Is this about Clark Kent? Damien was saying something about him on the way over."

"Yeah, it is. There's a woman in town claiming to be Clark's mom."

Dr. Sutton sighed. "How's he doing?"

"As well as can be expected. The woman's a little off, and she approached him first. And now she's saying .... Never mind. I'll drop by the hospital as soon as I can. Keep me informed if anything changes."

"Of course. Bye."

"Bye." Lex hung up and just managed to refrain from throwing his phone.

This was just fucking great. All he needed now was for some psycho to kidnap him, and the week would be complete.

Lex groaned and put his head to his desk again.

"Lex?" Martha said from the door.

He lifted his head. "Hello, Mrs. Kent. Come in."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just frustrated and at the edge of my sanity for the moment." He put his head back down.

"Bad news?"

"Terrible."

He heard her walking closer, shoes clacking against the hard wood floor in an efficient-sounding way. Without looking up, he could tell that she was coming very close and, after a moment, he felt her put her hands on his shoulder.

Lex stiffened out of reflex.

"Is this all right?" Martha asked softly.

"Yeah," he said, trying to force himself to relax. "It's okay." This was Martha Kent. He liked her. Even .... Well. He cared for her very deeply. He could relax around her.

Martha started to massage his shoulders and neck. He sighed and pillowed his head in his arms, breathing slowly. Tension began to bleed from him, making his problems seem manageable. Not any less important, or serious, but also not so overwhelming. Damien was in good hands; not only was Lex beginning to trust Smallville General Hospital (after all, it was the Metropolis doctor that had encouraged Lex to go forward with his father's operation, while the Smallville doctor had urged caution), but Dr. Sutton was there. She wouldn't let anything happen.

As for Rachel and his father .... What's done was done. They'd had an affair, obviously years before his mother had died. Even if she'd known, it couldn't hurt her anymore. It hurt Lex, but then, he'd known his father had affairs. And, if there was a child, the only thing Lex could do was look for him, and hope he found the kid in time to get Rachel off Clark's back.

Clark had a nice back. It was long and lean and very muscular. It flowed into a very nicely shaped ass. And he made such lovely sounds when Lex pounded into ...

Lex jerked awake, coughing.

"Are you all right?" Martha asked, her hands resting on Lex's shoulders.

"Yeah. I fell asleep," Lex said, keeping his face hidden. His face felt like it was on fire and he didn't want Martha asking what he'd been dreaming about. He needed to think about something other than Clark and Clark's ass, so he said, "Rachel was here."

"I know. I saw her leaving."

"She had an affair with my father. She thinks Clark is their child."

There was a moment of silence, and then Martha resumed the massage. "Lex, I'm so sorry."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "I knew he had mistresses after Mom died. I figured he probably cheated on her while she was alive. I didn't think he was stupid enough to let something like this happen." Abruptly, he raised his head and turned to her. "I have a brother."

Martha narrowed her eyes and studied him a moment, as if trying to ascertain his feelings on the matter. The truth was, Lex didn't know; on the one hand, the boy was a bastard with an insane mother. On the other hand, he was Lex's brother. And although he could see endless possibilities in which he could use this boy against Lionel, use him to strengthen his own position, make his company safe, teach him so he became a trusted business asset, it didn't seem as important as the fact that Lex had a brother at this moment.

Finally, Martha smiled and stroked his cheek. "That's wonderful," she said. "I'm happy for you."

"I had a brother, once. Julian. He died. I loved him, and it hurt so much when he died, I tried to make myself forget him." He licked his lips. "I have a brother."

"Yes, you do. But it isn't Clark."

He laughed out loud, feeling the last of the tension bleed from him as he did. "Thank God," he said with a grin.

Martha realized what she'd said and blushed. "I didn't mean .... What I meant was, we're going to need to find a way to tell Rachel that Clark isn't her son."

"Of course." He sobered and shook his head. "I tried to offer to help her find her son, but she left before I could really get the words out right."

"She is irrational. She was last night, and I'm not surprised she wouldn't listen to you." Martha sighed and pushed hair from her forehead. "Michelle Hewitt from Social Services is coming down today; she should be here about one. I'm going to call Rachel and see if we might talk as a group and get her to understand that we aren't trying to keep her from her son, it's just that Clark isn't him."

Lex sighed and rested his head against the back of his chair. "If my brother is out there somewhere, then Dad knows where he is. I just don't know how to make him tell me where if he doesn't want to. And without him deciding to capitalize on all this and claim that Clark is his son and then somehow prove it."

"Do you think he'd really do that?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't. If he hadn't already taken Clark away, I'd say yes, certainly. But since he's done it once, I don't know if he'd really do it again. It'd look too suspicious, especially since the same woman is handling the case. She seems ... honest. I think." He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'd ask Dominic to dig for us, but Damien's in the hospital, so Dominic's mind is on other things."

"What's wrong with Damien?" Martha asked, sounding concerned.

He told her, making sure his voice was steady the whole time. Unfortunately, it also made him sound expressionless and uncaring, but it got him through the recitation. And this was Martha, not Jonathan; where he might look heartless in Jonathan's eyes for his flat delivery, Martha was more likely to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm sorry," she said softly when he was done. She caressed his cheek with her knuckles. "I know how much he means to you."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "And I can't go to him right now."

"Of course you can. Jonathan and I can handle Rachel just fine."

"I want to be there for you and Clark."

"I know. But you're worried, and I don't want you to feel pressured to do anything. If you want to visit Damien, if doing it would make you feel more at ease, then go ahead."

Lex shook his head. "No. I want to start on this, trying to find more out about Rachel and see what leads, if any, I can find on Lucas. My brother." He wondered when saying the words, "my brother" would feel more real. Right now, it seemed like some sort of dream. "Besides, I think they're still running tests on Damien, and the last thing I need to do is hang around the hospital all afternoon."

"Yes, I understand." She sighed. "I better get back to work. Your father is having me make phone calls all morning, but he was fine about letting me leave this afternoon."

"Who are you calling?"

She smiled and shook her head. "I don't think I'm at liberty to say. You are, after all, a business rival."

"Mrs. Kent ..."

She shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips. "Sorry, honey, but I have my standards." Then she leaned over and kissed his forehead. "We'll work something out later," she said softly. "I don't think there's anything you need to know, but I'll let you judge."

"Don't worry," Lex said when she pulled away, "I'll help protect Clark."

"I know you will, Lex. I trust you." With one more smile, she turned and left the room.

Lex walked to the bar and poured himself some orange juice. Then he went back to his computer and set about trying to find his brother.

________________________________________

Clark tried to pretend that he wasn't rushing home, but he failed miserably. Not rushing would have meant he lingered at the Torch, talking to Chloe and trying to get her to cheer up. Rushing was the wave from across the hall and the shout that he'd talk to her later. Not rushing would have been stopping by the Talon and drinking coffee while he talked to Theresa. Rushing was going to the Talon, and then deciding to skip going inside. Not rushing would have been waiting for Lex, Pete, or Chloe to drive him home. Rushing was almost breaking the sound barrier.

He stopped just outside the back door, and then entered the kitchen as slow as he could manage. "Hey, Mom," he said nonchalantly, tossing his backpack on the floor. "What's up?"

Martha raised he eyebrow and smiled. She looked tired. "Not much. I'm finishing up some work for Lionel, and I'm cooking a pie for dessert."

"Oh." He bit his lip and went to the table. There was a bowl of fruit in the center, so he got an apple and polished it on his shirt sleeve. "So, uh, how was your day?"

Her lips twitched. "It was fine."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Mom?"

"We met with Rachel," she said, taking pity on him. "Michelle came out from Metropolis, and she, your father, Lex, Judge Ross and I all sat down and had a meeting."

"So, uh, how did the meeting go?"

"I don't know." She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "We spent a lot of time talking about Rachel's claim and why it wasn't valid. She just wouldn't listen to reason and, after about ten minutes, she decided she wanted a DNA test to prove she was your mother. Judge Ross pointed out that it would be a quick way to settle the dispute, but Michelle about had kittens over that and refused to allow the procedure. Thank goodness for that. Apparently there are all sorts of legal precedents that favors us, especially since we have proof that Rachel's claim is invalid." She sighed and then something crossed over her face. "Oh, I almost forgot."

Something about her tone made Clark's stomach clench. "What?"

She sighed heavily. "Apparently Rachel Dunleavy had an affair with Lionel about sixteen years ago. She claims that you are their son."

Clark's mouth dropped open.

Martha smiled tightly and nodded.

"Jesus Christ."

"Please watch your language, Clark." She said the words without any real inflection, an automatic habit that kicked in whenever he said something that might be construed as offensive.

Clark just rolled his eyes impatiently and asked, "Does Lex know?"

She nodded. "Yes. He does."

"Ah." He sighed. "Does Lionel know?"

"Not that I know of. And I hope to keep it that way." She sighed. "Anyway, there will be no DNA test, Rachel Dunleavy has to stay at least one hundred feet away from you, and Lex has offered to help her find her real son. Unfortunately, she turned that offer down."

He deflated. "So this still isn't over."

She sighed and took his hand. "I don't know, honey. I can only hope so."

Resting his head on the table, he said, "So what are we going to do?"

"Go about our lives like normal. Keep an eye out for her violating the restraining order. I'll have to inform your school about it, of course. I don't want you to worry about it, though, Clark. I want you to keep doing your usual routine. All right?"

"But, Mom ..."  
"No," she said sharply. "I don't want you worrying about this anymore, Clark. No more losing sleep, no more going to school at the crack of dawn, no more being on the internet at two o'clock in the morning."

He blinked and frowned. "What .... How did you know?"

She smiled wearily and rubbed her forehead. "I couldn't sleep last night. I went out to make sure you were still there, and I saw you up."

"Then why didn't you ..." He stopped asking his question when his mother's face turned red. He decided that he didn't want to know what she'd thought he'd been doing.

Clearing his throat, he looked away. "Uh, okay. I, uh, well, I'm starting a new project at school, so I'll try to concentrate on that. And not worry about Rachel."

"That sounds like a good idea."

Clark smiled at her and rose from the table. "I'm going to go call Lex." He kissed her on the forehead.

"All right. Love you."

"I love you too, Mom." He picked up his backpack and headed out to his room. Once he was there, he threw himself onto the couch and dialed Lex's cell phone.

Lex answered on the first ring. "Clark?"

"Hey. What's going on?"

He sighed. "I have a headache."

Clark wrinkled his nose in sympathy. "Want me to come over and take it away?" he asked, only trying half-heartedly to be seductive.

"No, it's okay. I'm at the hospital right now and ..."

"Are you okay?" Clark sat up in alarm. Lex was at the hospital? Why hadn't he felt that he was in trouble. What ...

"I'm fine, angel," Lex assured him calmly. "I'm fine. It's Damien who's sick. Remember his cold I didn't need to worry about? It escalated into a respiratory infection and anxiety bad enough to give him chest pains."

"Ah, man. Is he going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine, but they're going to keep him in for observation for a few days."

Clark lay back on the couch and closed his eyes. Concentrating, he could barely ^see^ Lex pacing the halls of Smallville General Hospital, rubbing his eyes and looking weary. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Tell Damien I hope he feels better soon."

Lex laughed gently. "Yeah, I will." He sighed again. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. I'm actually more worried about you." He licked his lips. "I, uh, heard about Rachel. I mean, you know. About her and your dad."

"Uh-huh."

Clark hesitated, unsure if he should go on. Lex didn't exactly sound welcoming, but he didn't sound like he was discouraging conversation either. And Clark did have a right to know ... didn't he?

"Do you think it's true?"

"Yes. I've no doubt that it's true." He was angry, but Clark didn't think he was angry at him.

"I'm sorry." And he was; Lex worshiped his mother, and to find out that Lionel had cheated on her had to hurt.

Lex snorted. "Yeah, well, not every marriage is as Rockwellian as Jonathan and Martha Kent's." He sighed; when Clark closed his eyes and concentrated, he could see Lex standing with his head against the wall in the empty hall of the hospital, looking dejected. "Remember what I said before? About wanting Dad in our kid's life? Fuck that. That bastard is not getting anywhere near him."

Clark laughed weakly, not sure if it was a joke, but not knowing what else to do. "Well," he finally said, "I guess that works out." He sighed and chewed his thumb.

"Promise me one thing, Clark. If I ever find my brother, don't let me exploit him so much I fuck up our relationship. His and mine, I mean. I mean .... I'm so scared I'll use him against Dad. Don't let me."

"Lex ..."

"But I might have to. He'd be such excellent .... You know I've always wanted a brother, Clark. Right? And I do."

"I know," Clark said, feeling desperate. "I know you have."

"I don't want to fuck things up if I find him."

"You won't. I promise."

Lex released a shuddering sigh. "I .... I've got to go," he said, voice changing suddenly. "I'll drop by later tonight."

"I'll wait up. I love you."

"Yeah, me too." He hung up.

Slowly, Clark hung up the phone and sighed. He hated the idea that Lex might exploit somebody. Especially his brother. A brother he hadn't even met. The scary thing was, Clark could imagine him doing it. He wouldn't do it to intentionally hurt his brother, but ... well, Lex was ruthless when he needed to be. And he was so threatened by his father, especially these days. The idea of a long lost brother would be like gold to him.

The perfect pawn in his war against Lionel.

Clark shuddered and shook his head. God, he was beginning to think like Lex. Maybe it was good, because it helped him straighten out his own thinking to get Lex back on the right track, but on the other hand ... it was a little scary.

He shook his head again to clear his mind. What with everything going on in his life right now, he didn't need to worry about it right now. He had to feed the cows and mindless work was exactly what he needed.

________________________________________

By nine o'clock, the chores were done, dinner was eaten, and homework was breezed through. Lex was still tied up with things, since he'd dropped by the plant after leaving the hospital. It disappointed Clark, since he wanted Lex here. Even after his mother's reassurances that everything was settled and not to worry about Rachel, it still sat uneasily with him. He needed his boyfriend to make things feel better.

But since he wasn't here, Clark had to comfort himself. Currently, he was stretched across the couch in his loft, leafing through old photos. At his request, Mom had pulled out the pictures from his first few years, the period of his life from which he had no real memories. He'd rarely looked at them even before he'd found out about his origins since he found it very uncomfortable to look at things he'd done and how happy he'd been and not be able to remember anything.

The frustrating thing was that it wasn't just that he couldn't remember. It was more like there was a big, gaping hole in his head where the memories were supposed to be, and it bothered him to think about it. The more he concentrated, the more keenly he felt the emptiness, and the something that wanted to emerge. It was like forgetting a word you wanted to say and having it on the tip of your tongue, and just not being able to call up the one you wanted. It bugged the crap out of him most days because it was so uncomfortable, almost remembering something so important.

It wasn't that uncomfortable tonight, though. Well, the emptiness and sense that something was about to break free wasn't exactly making him feel warm and fuzzy, but he didn't mind it tonight. He needed to do this. If memories were triggered, that was fine, but, if not, that was cool to. He could try that some other night. Tonight, he just wanted to cover himself in the sense of a history and family.

"Clark?" Lana's voice called from the bottom of the stairs. "Are you up there?"

He frowned and put his hand on the album. "Yeah. Come on up," he called back, wondering if something was wrong.

Lana's head appeared over the railing. She was smiling uncertainly, as if she was afraid that she was going to be turned away. "Hey, Clark. Am I interrupting anything?"

"No. I'm just looking at old pictures."

She nodded and twisted one of her fingers. "Oh." She licked her lips. "Can I see?"

He nodded.

Lana crossed the room and sat next to him. Taking the album, she looked over the first few pages intently. Her face broke into a smile.

"Clark. Quite a fashion statement you've got going there," she said teasingly.

Clark felt his face warm. The picture she was looking at was the one of him running around naked with his underwear on his head. He'd forgotten that was in there. "Uh, thanks."

Lana smiled up at him, her nose wrinkled and eyes shining. "You were so cute. And not just with the underwear on your head." She sighed and shook her head. "What happened to that adorable little boy?"

"Gee, thanks."

She looked up and grinned. Then her cheeks pinked and she looked back down at the photo album, looking embarrassed.

Clark shifted so he could look at her more clearly. Lana so rarely came over simply to hang out. Usually, she came when she had a problem or was upset about something, which was odd since they weren't all that close as friends. They were friends, and better friends than they'd been even a year ago, but, well, there always seemed to be a barrier. Whitney or Chloe or her being upset at him for having so many secrets. And, of course, Lex. It did bother Clark that the barrier existed; he wanted to be friends with her. Real friends, that hung out and talked, but he didn't know how to get past everything. He'd gone from worshiping her since forever to falling in love with Lex, and she'd gone from not knowing he existed to starting to be friends, to being resentful towards him when she'd broken up with Chloe. And then there was the whole thing with the class ring between them. They'd talked about it, he'd apologized for his behavior, but he'd never been able to do more than explain he wasn't himself because he'd been allergic to the red rocks. She'd accepted his apology, but Clark knew that she'd still been hurt and even knowing that he'd been sick couldn't help. And the barrier had seemed to grow.

But now .... She was here, seemingly relaxed and happy. Not perfectly happy, of course. Happy for Lana was a lot more subdued and sad than other people's happy. It was one of the reasons he'd always been drawn to her; that unhappiness made him want to protect her and shelter her from the real world. It also made him want to bring a real smile to her face, and make her seem really, truly happy, holding nothing back.

"So, uh, what's up?" he finally asked, needing to break the cycle of his thoughts.

Lana shrugged, still looking at pictures. "Nothing, really. I got off work, went home, and found Dean and Nell having a very serious discussion in the living room. He hasn't been by in a couple weeks, so I decided to leave them alone for a while. I went walking and wound up here." She looked up and smiled slightly.

He returned the smile. "Well, you know you're always welcome."

"Really?" she asked, looking unsure.

"Yeah, of course. I mean, maybe not if Lex and I are making out or something, but you can come over, Lana. We're ... we're friends, right?"

Tears were in her eyes, and Clark wondered how far down he'd swallowed his foot, when she turned and grabbed his hands. "I want to be friends," she said, voice a little weepy. "I like to think we're friends. But I push people away, don't I?"

Okay, so maybe not so happy and relaxed. But, then, hadn't he been thinking the same thoughts just a moment before? Not about her pushing him away, since he was pretty sure he pushed just as hard at times, but about their friendship.

Clark cleared his throat and squeezed her hands back. "Lana, you .... Okay, yes. You can be pushy, and act like you know best. And when you freak out or get upset, the push becomes more like a shove. But you always do what you can to make things better afterwards. You're not a mean person, or an unlikable one. You're just, flawed like all of us. And you know that so you always do what you can to make people know you're sorry. I know we've had our differences and fights, but I still consider you one of my best friends." Maybe he was stooping a little bit to hyperbole, but, on the other hand, he didn't have a lot of friends. Pete, Chloe, Lex, and Lana comprised his world of regulars. Intimates. He was more comfortable around them than anyone else, so, in a way, he did view Lana as one of his best friends.

Lana smiled at him, eyes still teary. "Me too, Clark." Then she pulled away, wiping her eyes. "God, look at me. I guess this is what Chloe was talking about, huh? Always talking about myself when I should be talking about you."

Clark squirmed uncomfortably and took the photo album back. Rising, he walked across the room the put it on his desk. "It's cool, Lana. I'm your friend, not your girlfriend. Uh, boyfriend. If you need to come over and vent, it's cool. I'm here to listen." He set the album down and turned back, leaning against his desk. "Is everything going okay with Dean?"

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe." She sighed. "I don't know. I've been trying to be nicer the past few weeks. Get to know him. I mean, he is going to be my stepfather, and his past .... Well, she wasn't crushed by a meteor, but his daughter was taken from him in a rather traumatic way."

"What happened?" Clark asked, curious. He'd seen Dean a few times, and couldn't get a read on him one way or another. He seemed really bland, which was weird, since Nell was so ... exotic.  
But, she was marrying him and, Clark guessed, Dean would be hanging around more or maybe living in Smallville, so he was curious as to his past.

Lana wiped a last tear that was clinging to her eyelashes away. "He had a daughter the same age as us. Or, she was born the same year. She died in a car accident a few years ago. Nell said that he wanted a daughter. Not to replace Brittany, but ... but because he still has love or something to give."

Clark frowned. "Okay. That's .... I can see where you'd be uncomfortable."

"Really? Because it's how I feel, but then I think about it and all I can think is how I should be sympathetic and nicer to him. Which I am," she said hastily. "I am sorry for his loss, and I am trying to be nicer. I even like him a little bit. He tells great jokes and he's been a lot of places so he has some good stories. I just .... I guess I don't like the idea of being a replacement." She looked up at him. "I'm uncomfortable with the fact that Nell wants me to be available for this man to love and to take care of, without asking me if I wanted that. I mean, I'm almost seventeen and I'm not sure I need some stranger ..." She broke off.

"What is it?"

Lana frowned and wrinkled her nose. "I feel like I'm being such a hypocrite. You remember those pictures I found? Of my mom and that guy?"

"Yeah."

"His name is Henry Small."

"Like Smallville Small?"

She nodded. "Yeah. And he might be my father. My biological father, and I really, really want to know for sure. And to be a part of his life, to be loved by a man who's my father. But Henry is just as much a stranger as Dean, even more so since I know Dean, and barely know Henry. But I'm willing to let Henry in my life and not Dean." She sighed. "I feel like such a horrible person."

Clark thought about it a moment, a little stunned. Henry Small. His family, like, made Smallville. They were the royalty here, which fit with Lana's princess image, except she always said she didn't want to be a princess. But still, it was pretty big.

After a moment, he said, "I think I know. Why Henry is okay and not Dean, besides the fact that you get to choose what you want to do with Henry--pursue or ignore the connection--while Dean is being forced on you."

"Yes?"

"We're different. We don't get to see our biological parents every day, and see a little piece of who we are, who we may become. If I had a chance to meet my biological parents ..." He hesitated a moment, frowned, and then said, "I would."

Lana blinked, licked her lips, and looked away. "Uh," she said. "Uh, I heard that, uh, your real mother was in town."

Clark's stomach clenched hard. "Who told you?"

"Who didn't? It's all over town. And, I heard about it yesterday when she met your mom and dad at the Talon." Lana bit her lip and looked up at him, eyes huge. "Is it true?"

"Sort of," he sighed. "I mean, yeah, she's moved to town and she says she's my mom, but she's not. My mom is dead."

Lana blinked. "How do you know?"

"It was a private adoption. Sort of. I mean, they used an agency, but my folks knew my birth mom."

"Oh." She sounded a little sad. "Are you disappointed? I mean, it'd be so cool for her to come back, wouldn't it? To have a chance to get to know your real mom?"

"My mom is my real mom," Clark said tersely.

Lana's body seemed to close off as she folded in on herself. "Sorry."

Clark sighed and rubbed his eyes. "No, I'm sorry, Lana. It's just .... Mom and Dad? They're the only parents I know. I have only a handful of memories of my birth par ... mother. And, yeah, I miss her. I would give almost anything to just spend one day with her, or get to hold her. But I can't. She's gone, and now I have my mom, and she's enough." Then he grimaced.

Lana matched his grimace and took his hand. "Pretty much enough," she said softly.

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Is it bad that I feel that way?"

"I ask myself the same thing. But I think you're right. We do want to see ourselves in someone who looks like us and has the same facial features and expression. I mean, have you ever noticed how Pete is exactly like his mom? And Chloe uses the same hand movements as her dad?

Clark nodded.

"We have that, a little. Because we do have influences in our life. But .... It's not the same. In some ways, it's just not."

He sighed and shook his head. "No."

Lana touched his arm tentatively. "Clark, I don't know whether to wish this woman was your real mother or not. I mean, I want for you to be able to look at someone and see yourself. I really do."

"Me too," he admitted. "But I guess I'll just have to look at my parents and see it. Lex is always saying that I'm like my mom and dad."

Suddenly, Lana's arms were around him. Clark opened his eyes to find himself blinded by silky dark hair that smelled like strawberries.

"I can't think of a better compliment," she said softly, holding him tightly.

He smiled and hugged her back. "Yeah. Neither can I."

________________________________________

He'd never complain, since complaining did nothing but make one look weak, but Damien hated hospitals. He hated being in them for other people and hated being a patient himself. Nothing made him feel out of control quite so fast and so much as being ill. It was the main reason that he tried to be infinitely patient and yet still firm with Lex when he ill.

There was a gentle sigh from the chair next to him, and then the rustling of pages. Damien coughed and he opened his eyes, which felt gummed shut.

"You awake?" Mabel asked him, her voice gentle.

A surge of disappointment flooded his body, which he chased off sternly. He was an independent adult; he didn't need his lover to hold his hand every time he spent an uncomfortable night in a hospital, not being able to breathe. He didn't even need Mabel to be there, although he didn't mind. "Yes," he said, sounding congested to his own ears. His lashes were stuck together.

"Here, let me," Mabel said. A wet washrag was placed over his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

He coughed slightly and took an assessment of his body. "Well enough, I suppose. Not terrific."

She rubbed his eyes gently, breaking up the mucus. "Chest pains gone?"

"Yes." He was having a hard time dealing with the fact he'd gotten so anxious over this stupid cold that he'd gotten chest pains. That was something Lex would do, not him. He was rational and level headed, and tried to take each problem with the right mix of concern and practicality.

It was not practical to have a panic attack over a cold.

The wash rag was pulled away and Damien was able to open his eyes. Mabel was smiling at him. "Good. Now all we have to do is concentrate on getting you home." She closed her book and placed it on the table. "Dominic called this morning; he's going to try and come down again tonight."

Damien paused before responding, not wanting to seem too pleased. "He doesn't have to."

"He knows that. But he doesn't care. He would be here now, except that there's some meeting that he needed to attend."

"And I'd rather him do his actual duties than waste another day here sitting by my bedside."

Mabel raised her eyebrow. "He loves you. And don't give me that about not wanting him here, because I know it's not true. And I know you well enough to know you're only saying it to convince yourself, and failing miserable."

He smiled tightly but chose not to respond. She would believe whatever she wanted to believe without any help from him. And, if she had gotten too close to the truth, Damien could put it off to his illness and not worry about it.

Reaching for a cup of water, he asked, "Have you had any news of Clark and Rachel?"

"Yes. Lex wanted me to tell you that everything has been taken care of, he thinks."

When she said nothing more, he titled his head and looked at her through what he hoped was hard eyes. From her lack of response, they were probably blurry eyes and a runny nose.

"He thinks?" he finally prompted. He took a tissue from the tray and wiped his nose gently.

She sighed, bit her lip, and then said, "I supposed it won't hurt to tell you. Apparently Rachel Dunleavy was a nurse for Mrs. Luthor, and she had an affair with Lionel. She thinks Clark is their son. She still doesn't believe that he is not, even though Lex has offered to find the real Lucas, but she refused. So all the Kents could do was put a restraining order on her and hope that's enough."

Damien rubbed his eyes. "Ah, yes, that was why the name was familiar." He sighed. "When Lionel first hired me, before I became Lex's assistant, I dealt with some of Lillian's medical records. Ms. Dunleavy's name stuck out because it'd appeared in other places as well." Dropping his hands back to his lap, he said, "The boy will need a bodyguard."

"Right," Mabel laughed. Then, when she saw Damien's expression, she said, "Damien, he's a teenage boy, and this is one woman. She's only looking for her son."

"Yes, and a mother missing her child is one of the most dangerous types of people. If she is convinced that Clark is her son, then a restraining order is not going to deter her."

"The Kents will never agree."

"Then they needn't know. I know of several people I can call to watch him, either as an instructor or a student or ... perhaps a janitor. In fact, where is my phone?"

Mabel was shaking her head. "Not here. And shouldn't you at least ask Clark? If not his parents, then him. He has a right to have a say in this."

"We've discussed the possibility of a guard before. Especially ..." He stopped talking, eyes on the television.

"Oh, no," Mabel said softly, turning up the volume.

Lionel was onscreen, his blind eyes turned to the cameras, face impassive. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for coming on such short notice. I, um, I have an important announcement to make that concerns my family. My son, Lex Luthor, has been kidnapped. I want to say to his abductor .... I will never give in to your demands."

Damien felt his chest tighten and ache. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Oh my God," Mabel whispered.

Damien reached out and took her hand. She squeezed it hard, making him wince and cough. "As I said," he managed through the coughs, "a mother missing her child is a dangerous person."

________________________________________

"Lex," Clark said desperately, pulling Lex into his arms.

Lex remained frighteningly unresponsive. There was a dark bruise on his temple, and a sliver of blood trickling from his mouth. His breathing, thought, was fairly even, and he didn't appear to be hurt anywhere else.

But he was still gone from Clark's mind, just as he had been since about one-thirty. It had been terrifying; Clark had been going to history, when Lex had simply blinked out of existence. It had been almost like the time when he'd been tasered and taken to Club Zero, only quieter. He'd spent the better part of history trying to contact Lex, and, when it became obvious that not only the telepathic bond was missing, but the empathic as well, he'd gone to Chloe for help.

Apparently, he'd arrived just in time. Rachel had been trying to kill Lex when Clark had arrived. When he'd stopped outside the house, he'd looked inside to see her holding an axe over Lex's unconscious form. Then he'd acted swiftly, breaking through the door and stopping the axe.

After that, Rachel had dissolved into tears. Clark had tried to comfort her, but he'd been too worried about Lex to hold her for long.

"What did you do to him?" Clark demanded of her now, trying to make himself heard over her sobs.

Rachel only curled in on herself more, shaking.  
He closed his eyes and kissed Lex gently. "Hang on, baby," he whispered, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. Turning it on, he dialed the police and requested help. Then he hung up and turned back to Rachel. "Look," he said, trying to make his voice softer. "I'm really, really sorry I'm not your son, but ..."

"He's gone," Rachel cried. "Oh, God, he's gone."

"No. He's not. Lex is going to find Lucas for you. He's not ..." He broke off when Rachel lifted her head, fixing her insane eyes on him.

"You don't understand," she said. "He's gone."

Clark felt his body go cold. "I don't understand. He isn't dead. He's got to be still alive, and ..."

"And Lionel knows where he is. Which means I will never see him again. He won't let me."

He held Lex tighter and stroked the back of his head soothingly. "I'm .... Even if Lionel won't, Lex will."

Rachel's face crumpled and she fell back to the floor, sobbing. "You don't understand," she moaned. "You don't know what it's like to lose everything: your position, your lover, you son. Your mind. All gone. Because of him. I will never know my son now. Never." Her wails increased and soon, she couldn't talk.

Wary, Clark kept an eye on her, afraid she was going to hurt herself somehow. He rested his cheek against Lex's, a sense of melancholy settling over him. "I know what it's like," he said softly. "You have your memories of Lucas. I have barely anything of my mother. She's like a shadow to me. Sometimes she's there, strong and vivid, and other times, nothing. Insubstantial as the wind. I know what it's like."

Rachel blinked, a moment of lucidity creeping into her expression. Her eyes locked with Clark's for a long moment. He held his breath, waiting to see if she'd say anything.

She didn't. She simply sniffed, closed her eyes, and laid her head back down on the floor, looking crumpled and defeated.

________________________________________

Clark set his water down on the nightstand and opened his journal. He picked up his pen and chewed on the end for a moment, thinking. Then he began to write.

"I think what bothers me most about everything that happened (well, besides Lex getting kidnapped) is how people kept referring to Rachel (and my birth mother) as my "real" mother. Maybe I'm being too sensitive, but Mom _is_ my real mother. She was there for all the nightmares and the temperature spikes. She taught me how to read and write and do math. She taught me how to pet a kitten and tie a shoe. She read to me every night, held me when I was lonely, laughed with me when I was happy, and was always there.

"She supported me when I came out, loves my boyfriend like he was her own son, and didn't abandon me when I told her I was almost raped. She loves me, and I know that love is unconditional and will never, ever go away.

"I don't understand why people think that, in order for someone to be a 'real' mother, they have to be the ones to give birth. Because, as far as I'm concerned, my mom did give birth to me. She taught me how to speak English and opened my mind into this world. There was a large part of me that was born here. Mom was part of that."

Next to him, Lex stirred. Clark put his pen behind his ear and checked his watch. Then he shook Lex gently.

"Hey. Wake up, baby."

"Go fuck a polar bear," Lex mumbled, turning onto his stomach.

He snorted. "Not my type. Not even my species."

"Neither am I."

Clark bit back a sigh; Lex got mean when he was cranky and even though reminders that he was an alien didn't bother him as much anymore, it still wasn't nice to hear. "What's your name?"

Lex sighed dramatically and rolled away, curling into a ball. "Alexander of Macedonia."

"What's your name?"

"Captain Picard."

"What's your name?"

"Formerly known as Clark Kent's boyfriend."

Clark poked him in the back and glared.

"Lex Luthor," Lex said grudgingly, turning onto his stomach.

Finally, progress. Clark wanted to cheer. But he didn't, instead moving on to, "Who was your mother?"

"Lillian Luthor." He sounded defeated.

Clark had to bite back a smile. "What happened to you?"

"A stupid psycho bitch tied me to a chair and then tried to kill me with an axe. I fell over and hit my head." He yawned and turned his head. "How's Damien doing?"

Clark shrugged. "Fine. He's home."

"I know. Rode home in the limo with him, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." Clark bent over and kissed him gently. "I wish you'd just answer the questions when I ask you them."

Lex's lips curved. "My way is more fun."

He rolled his eyes. "That's a usage of the word 'fun' that I've never heard of. Because you could be serious. How am I supposed to know?"

"Check my mind, dork. That's how you tell."

"Oh. Right." Clark felt his cheeks warm. Their minds had reconnected halfway through Lex's medical exam, but Clark had never thought to simply check through the bond to make sure Lex was okay. The doctor said to wake Lex every hour, so he did. "I'll take that into consideration. But, for now, we'll do it the doctor's way."

"You suck."

"Sometimes." He kissed the nape of Lex's neck. "Are you hungry?"

He sighed and made a face. "No, not really. What time is it?"

"Almost midnight."

"Oh." His eyes fell shut and he was silent. Clark thought he'd fallen asleep when he said softly, "I'm sorry I wasn't able to convince Rachel to leave you alone."

Clark set his journal aside and stretched out beside Lex. Massaging his back gently, he said, "I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you from her."

"You were in school."

"And you aren't God."

Lex opened his eyes again. "Don't be rational."

"Don't be dramatic," he countered. Then, as Lex opened his mouth to make a rejoinder, he said, "Lex, drop it, okay? There was no fault here, by either of us. She was irrational, and there was no way we could predict what she was going to do. If she'd had her head on straight, she would have, first off, gone through the right channels to get to me, and then, once it was clear she had the wrong kid, accepted your offer to help her find her son. Normal people don't kidnap and then try to kill people because they're convinced someone else is lying. It's not ... rational."

He exhaled slowly. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't like losing control." He closed his eyes and whispered, "Everything spiraled out of control so quickly."

Clark nodded. "I know. But it wasn't your fault."

Lex nodded and rolled onto his back. "Still," he said, lacing his fingers behind his head, "it's over. And somewhere out there, I have a brother that I need to track down."

"Ever think of asking your dad?"

"Of course. I don't think he'll tell me anything useful, but I'll ask tomorrow." He glanced at Clark. "It's going to be okay, Clark. Even if I do use Lucas to gain ground against Dad, that's not why I want to find him. And I'll take care of him. He's my brother."

Clark nodded and ran his hand over Lex's stomach. "I trust you."

He winced and closed his eyes. "God, I just wish I could trust myself."

"Lex, you are a good man. You just have to choose to do what's right."

"That's the hard part."

He shook his head. "You do it every day. All the time, you choose to do the right thing. You didn't have Rachel taken out by illegal means, you saved the town by buying the plant, you're trying to help the kids who were turned into mutants by the rocks. You love me."

"Ah," Lex said, catching Clark's hand in his. "But that's easy." He kissed Clark's palm.

"Not always," Clark corrected gently. "We struggle all the time, it's just we know it'd be too hard without each other. But we choose to stay together."

"Because the alternative is unthinkable."

Clark smiled and kissed Lex gently. "It is. Completely." He kissed Lex again. "Go to sleep. Think good things. I know you'll do what's right."

Lex obediently closed his eyes. "I don't know what I'd be without you, Clark."

"You'd be just fine," Clark whispered. "Just fine."

He smiled softly and drifted off to sleep, features going slack. When Clark was sure he was asleep, he picked up his journal again and turned to a new page. He finally, finally, knew how he was going to start his adoption essay.

"I think there is a story that all adopted kids tell themselves," he wrote. "It goes something like this: Once upon a time, two people came together and created me. They loved each other very much and they loved me more. Even though it hurt them more than anything to give me up, they had to. To save my life. I know it was hard for them to send me away because I still hear their tears and feel their sorrow late at night in my dreams. But send me away they did and I came to live here, in this far off kingdom where two kindly people took me in. And these people love each other very much and love me more. Over the years, they've fed me, clothed me, and loved me, no matter how alien I sometimes am and how much they must wonder what kind of people I came from.

"They love me no matter how much they fear the people who gave birth to me might come and take me back. But they needn't worry. I love my birth parents and would like to get to know them, but I would never leave the people who took me in. My parents are my real parents and nothing is going to change that. Nothing is going to make me disappear. They're stuck with me, forever.

"The End."


End file.
